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Frontispiece 



IDYLLS OF THE 
SOUTH 



BY 
MRS. BETTIE KEYES CHAMBERS 




NEW YORK 

THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1912 



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Copyright, 1912, by 

The Neale Publishing Company 



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To the United Daughters of the Confederacy, in 
warm appreciation of their efforts to commemorate 
the heroism and patriotism of those who wore the 
gray in the great Civil War of America, this little 
poem, " Eva Landeneau," is inscribed by the 

Author. 



AUTHOR'S NOTE 

This story was begun in the closing days of the 
Civil War. In it I have attempted to delineate the 
character of the true Southern woman ; and to give 
expression to her heart-throbs from the beginning 
of the war until 1878, when the terrible Yellow 
Fever swept over the South ; and the North came 
with generous help to the suifferers. 

I beg of those who may be tempted to read my lit- 
tle poem to be kind enough to read it all before pass- 
ing judgment. — The Author. 



" A POET'S PROEM " 

(In Spectator.) 

If on the great world's wide and shifting sand 

I scrawl my meager alphabet of song. 

What profit have I, think you? Not for long 

The pride of its enduring. Time's rough hand 

Sweeps all of shadowy fabric from the strand; 

So children work upon the tideless shore; 

So poets build their pomp. The fresh tides roar, 

And desolate the glory each had planned: 

Then whereof comes requital? Here and there 

Our life's horizon clouds with new regrets; 

Our palaces dissolve in thinnest air ; 

Shimmer to dust our loftiest minarets; 

Yet, childlike, work we ever on the shore, 

Reap joy in building, and expect no more. 

W. W. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

EVA LANDENEAU 

Introductory 17 

The Tale 20 

MISCELLANEOUS 

A Greeting to the People y^t 

To What End? 'j'] 

Impromptu 79 

After All 80 

The Outcast's Wail 81 

Love Thy Neighbor 83 

Broken Idols 84 

The Loved and Lost 85 

"Judge Not" 87 

Usque Quo Domine 88 

Indian Summer 89 

Impromptu 91 

The Old Year's Record 91 

Burial on an Indian Mound 93 

A Fancy 95 

Silence 96 

A Cartoon 97 

A Mother's Wish 98 

Taken Away 99 

God's Messenger 100 

In Memoriam 102 

An Accident of the War 103 

Death in Prison 106 

A Prayer for the South no 

Crumbs 113 

Shadows . 115 

II 



12 CONTENTS 



PAGE 

MISCELLANEOUS (Continued) 

Bend Low, O God! ii6 

Minor Chords 117 

A Stranger's Request 119 

Requiem 120 

Apples of Sodom 122 

My "Nannie" 124 

The Startled Deer 125 

A Simile 126 

An Idyll 126 

For Annie's Album 130 

For Keysey . . . . . . . . . . . . 130 

To My Brother 131 

Lines 133 

Mignonette 135 

Yearnings 136 

A Souvenir 138 

Winter Rain 139 

Tit for Tat 140 

To Xariffa 141 

To Miss Nellie Griffith of Baltimore , . 142 

Acrostic 143 

To Miss Sykes 144 

A Tribute 145 

An Autograph 145 

To "Margaret" . 146 

To Miss Lucy Riley 148 

To Lucy 150 

Lines to Sidney Skinner 150 

Afraid 151 

Morning-Glories 152 

A Valentine 153 

Weary 154 

SONGS 

Memory's Song 157 



CONTENTS 13 



PAGE 

SONGS (Continued) 

Song of the Floating Drift 158 

Song 159 

Farewell 160 

In Answer 161 

Questioning 163 

Aftermath 164 

Contentment ........... 165 

Deprecation 166 

To Those Who Love Me 168 



EVA LANDENEAU 



INTRODUCTORY 

The awful fiend of civil war, — 
Whose demon work was dreaded far, — 
In furious wrath had been let loose 
O'er Southern Land: 'Twere little use 
To hope for gentle Peace again 
Till pallid Woe, and Want and Pain, 
And Death, should have their fearful reign 
Upon the land — upon the main, 

And then sprang forth the chivalry 

Of Southland homes right heartily. 

Fond mothers sent their cherished sons, — 

And wooed and won sent dearest ones; 

And sons, and husbands, fathers — all, 

As true men answered Southland's call : 

As true men battled for her right ; 

As true men died amid the fight; 

Until, at length, the fearful might 

Of numbers sank her cause in night. 

And many a morning sun rose bright 
O'er Southrons eager for the fight; 
In many a dell, on many a hill. 
By many a lover-haunted rill. 
Whose rippling, gurgling, merry song 
But made some soldier's heart more strong 
As mem'ry waked her tender throng — 
What tho', till then, forgotten long. 

Think not they know not what they dared ! 
Among them some there were who shared 
Our Davis' fame in Mexico; 
And more then once had faced the foe. 

17 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 



This fight was different — well they knew; 
For then a " point of honor " drew 
Some to the tent. Ambition, too, 
In that campaign had much to do. 

I've heard some Afric travelers say, 
Where winds o'er desert borders play, 
The lion oft in search of prey 
Long distance from his lair will stray; 
And if he meet the hunters then 
He'll fight them desperately; but when 
He meets them near his forest den. 
They well have need of hunter's ken. 

'Twas thus our little Southern band 
'Gainst countless numbers dared to stand 
Four weary years. With scare one note 
Of sympathy from Europe's throat; 
And single-handed, and alone. 
We fought, till e'en our boys were gone; 
Till over every household fell 
The gloomy shade of Azrael, — 
Like that which Jewish patriarchs tell 
Changed Egypt's scorning to a knell. 

For fifty years — or nearly so — 
Our men had tried to turn the flow 
Of jealousy and envious greed 
Which Northmen gave us as the meed 
Of faith in field, and faith in state, 
And valor, where 'tis truly great: 
All vain ! It proved their ruthless hate. 
Like vampire's beak, — insatiate. 

Think not, ye victors, in your pride, 
Ye'll crush us as ye will. The tide 
That flows, must ebb. We know not how 
Nor when the change — we know that now 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 19 

We suffer wrong. But with the free, 
In future years, we yet shall be. 
Perhaps 'tis Southron's destiny 
To rule this land from sea to sea. 

Be still, my soul ! 'tis hard to sweep 

My Southern lyre, and prisoned keep 

Within my proud impulsive heart 

Its hopes for our loved land. The smart 

Of keen injustice will not let 

Us what we would of wrong forget; 

But while it wakens vain regret, 

The gulf between digs deeper yet. 

And here, O Southland Muse, be still ! 
We humbly bow to Heaven's will; 
We yet believe our paean song 
Shall rise, like incense, rich and strong. 
At last, our tears to consecrate; 
And bending o'er our dead we wait 
Till God shall send us kinder fate — 
Or be it soon, or be it late. 

Till then, O Muse; some gentler rhyme 
Chant thou — Of Lovers, in that time 
Which " tried men's souls," and women's faith, 
As children's, by some goblin wraith ; 
Or snatch from dark oblivion's greed 
Some story of heroic deed 
Of foe or friend. To all just meed — 
And thus renew some holy creed. 



20 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

THE TALE 

Let Fancy paint the fair domain 
And quiet homestead — Inverstain. 
A cottage first, 'mid live-oak trees; 
This added to, by slow degrees, 
As whim or comfort would suggest, — 
Or as it pleased its master best; 
Until at length the dwelling grew 
A marvel to the stranger's view. 

Red River's murky waters flow 
Some forty idling miles or so 
Along the east, while stretching wide 
Are prairies on the westward side ; 
Then farther to the northward still 
We find the towns of Pleasant Hill 
And Mansfield, where the brave Mouton 
Sealed, with his life, the victory won. 

The master of quaint Inverstain, 

'Twas said, had come from France or Spain 

He little cared for wordly gain. 

For hidden in his breast a pain 

Was gnawing, yet, like Spartan youth. 

He hid from all the bitter truth 

That sucked life's blessing from his heart. 

And held himself from all apart. 

With courteous word or princely air 

He turned aside the vulgar stare, 

And silenced those who would have sought 

Familiar intercourse of thought. 

So none were rash enough, I ween, 

To question what his life had been, 

And thus to those without his home 

He had a mystery become. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 21 

Within that home he had one child, 
On whom he ever kindly smiled. 
And oft his daughter's guileless play 
Would win him from sad thought away. 
Whatever was her wish or whim 
He reck'd not what the cost to him, 
But pleased her, if he could. And so 
Had lived sweet Eva Landeneau, 
Till Time had graced her womanhood 
With all we deem most pure and good. 

And now she was as fair a girl 
As ever tossed a sunny curl. 
Expression changing on her face 
So lighted it with wondrous grace 
One almost looked for angel's wing, — 
And almost thought he heard one sing 
Whene'er her rich voice rose and. fell 
In some old ballad's music swell. 

It was some time in pleasant May — 

I cannot tell the very day — 

Two beings in the grand old wood 

Of Inverstain together stood. 

They were alone ; their converse low 

And solemn, as of deeper flow 

Than was the wont of youths and maids 

Who walked amid these quiet shades. 

The one, with bearing stern and grand. 
Seemed born his fellows to command. 
His proud, firm face bespoke a man 
Whom none could find a braver than; 
But deep emotion paled his brow. 
As list'ning, he bent o'er her now. 
Who stood with clasped hands by his side 
And downcast eyes, as if to hide 



22 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

The struggle that had blanched her cheek 
'Twixt soul so strong and heart so weak. 

But now she slowly raised her head. 
In low, brave tones she calmly said, 
" Go, Ivan, Not a word of mine 
Shall turn thy heart from its design. 
Our country needs her sterling men 
In this dark hour. Go battle, then, 
And know, that where the bravest fight 
My prayer shall be, ' God save the right.' " 

" My Eva, thou hast spoken well," 
He said, while o'er his features fell 
A light from soulful joy and pride 
Of her, who was his promised bride. 
She smiled and laid in his, her hand. 
He clasped it, saying, " This fair land 
Must win, of whose bright women thou 
Art such a type. I thank thee now 
For those dear words. In many an hour 
They'll nerve my arm with giant power. 

" This fight will be no children's play, 
Nor passing wonder of a day ; 
But long, vindictive, fierce the strife — 
A nation struggling for its life. 
And when we part, — perhaps for aye, — 
At least for many a weary day 
Shall be our parting. So, I plead. 
With brightest smiles give thy * God-speed.' 

They turned, and slow retraced their way, 
For now 'twas near the close of day. 
With hearts of tender love so full. 
Each sought the other's pain to lull 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 23 

By cheerful smiles, although these were 
But rainbows from some unshed tear; 
And cheerful words — though gentlest tone 
Was borrowed from a smothered groan. 

They did not heed the flashing eyes, 
Bespeaking anger and surprise — 
The glance of jealousy and wrath, — 
Of that tall horseman near their path, 
Whose face now grew so fiercely weird. 
It told some demon-purpose stirred, 
And quickened deep within his heart, 
Where plots of hate began to start. 

For Conrad Neille, in bitter rage, 
Had read their faces like a page 
With love's quick instinct; and he now 
Dismounted, and with darkening brow 
And folded arms above his heart, — 
As if to quell its jealous smart — 
He watched them, till the gathering gloom 
Enshrouded all, like pall of doom. 

" Aha ! " he said, " so this is why 
She gave my suit such cold reply. 
But, Ivan Vaughn, thy haughty mien 
May change to one of woe and pain. 
Thou wooest Eva Landeneau, 
And by her fair cheek's blushing glow 
And love-lit face too well I know 
Her heart is thine. Ah, well, I owe 
Thee many a grudge in boyhood past, — 
This greatest vict'ry shall be last. 

" And all these years my very soul 
Bowed abject to her dear control. 



24 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

In childhood's merry, careless hours 
I culled for her the sweetest flowers, 
Forsook the thoughtless play or mime 
Oft in my boyhood's happy time, 
To write for her some foolish rhyme. 
And now, to see in manhood's prime 



'This cherished hope take lasting flight, 
My guide-star set in sudden night, 
It is too much ! And here I swear 
There is no fate I will not dare, — 
There is no doom I will not woo, — 
Nor deep intrigue but I'll pursue, — 
To wreak at last a vengeance dire, 
And make thee, Ivan, feel the fire, 
The hopeless woe, the wild unrest 
Which thou hast planted in my breast." 

The night-winds' soughing hollow moans 
Gave mocking answer to his tones. 
The wood and sky so dark had grown, 
One star alone above him shone — 
One star, in all the sky's wide scope. 
It caught his eye. With eager hope 
He set his fate, as on a die. 
Upon a light cloud floating by. 

He watched it floating, till at last 
Both star and sky were overcast. 
He sprang upon his waiting steed, 
Struck deep his spurs, with madd'ned speed. 
It stretched its limbs o'er wood and plain; 
Then, when the sun o'er earth again 
Rose bright and Conrad drew his rein. 
Leagues, leagues away, lay Inverstain. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 25 

That morning's sun rose o'er the plain 
Which spread so fair round Inverstain, 
Upon a thousand gathered men, 
Each late a quiet citizen 
Who threw aside his all, and came 
With heart and soul and mind aflame 
With patriot fire for Southland's fame, 
To win or fall for Southland's name. 
And there, those men, with one aclaim 
Their leader Ivan Vaughn proclaim. 

From her own window o'er that lawn 
Fair Eva Landeneau looked on. 
She saw her lover singled out, 
Heard the enthusiastic shout, 
Then murmured softly, " It is just. 
A truer man ne'er held their trust. 
Yet Heaven pity all who must 
On battle-field sink down in dust. 

" Oh, Father, whether foe or friend. 

Thy mercy to the dying send. 

But, Father, hear a maiden's prayer. 

And shield my Ivan with thy care. 

Yet if dear Southland's bitter need, 

In death demands his heart shall bleed, 

Give to my soul Thy strength with speed. 

And faith like Abraham's I plead." 

Long Eva knelt in silent prayer, 

And when she rose a glory rare 

And holy o'er her features glowed, 

And bright within her dark eyes showed — 

A vestal priestess at the shrine 

Of Southland. She could now resign 

Her more than life, and say, " Not mine. 

Oh, Father ; not my will, but Thine." 



26 iIDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Days lengthened into weeks, and then 

An " order " came for Ivan's men 

To hasten to Virginia, and 

The Northern foe help to withstand. 

And Eva with her father stood 

To watch them marching thro' the wood — 

The old man with uncovered head. 

She giving smiles, of tears instead. 

They bore the pennon she had given 
With her own hands; its stars were woven. 
And Eva knew they'd guiard it well 
'Mid rain of shot or burst of shell. 
But when the little band was gone, 
Those silver stars their last had shone 
For her full eyes, — she felt that lone. 
Deep sadness through her being borne 
We all must know when standing near 
The grave of those we hold most dear. 

The days passed on, and many a plain 
Reeked red with blood of Northern slain; 
But ere the wild, inglorious rout, 
Or ere the loud victorious shout. 
Oh, many a rebel soldier fell ! 
And Southern hearts were stilled as well, 
Whose death-cold brow with hero-wreath 
We twine, as now their swords we sheath. 

More dear than famed Excalibur 

Those swords to us ; more potent far 

To nerve the hearts of Southern youth 

For deeds of valor, right, and truth, 

Tho' rusting in their silent sheath 

Or lost amid some o'er grown heath 

From hands that flashed them — underneath 

The green sod now. Aye, we bequeath 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 27 

The honor of our hero dead 

Who fought for Southern rights, and bled 

On sea or battlefield — and lost 

The cause for which a holocaust 

They there became, to children who 

We know will to the trust be true : 

And if they must the fight renew. 

Who dare to say what they will do ! 

The war raged on. The changing years 
Brought Eva oft new cause for tears. 
Her sweet face pale and saddened grew, 
Her dark eyes took a darker hue; 
And when she bowed her fair young head 
O'er " list of wounded, missing, dead," 
With bated breath and fearful dread 
And wild suspense she o'er them read. 

Then when she found not one dear name, 
Some respite to her bosom came; 
And spreading o'er her gentle face 
The brooding care to peace gave place. 
Of gallant deeds of Ivan Vaughn 
She sometimes read; then, bright her wan 
Sweet features lighted. " Nobly done ! " 
She said was but his just guierdon. 



The iron boats our waters swept. 

And many a missive thus was kept. 

Which Ivan Vaughn had, thoughtful, sent 

From field or camp or battlement. 

And then our proud Queen City fell. 

Thy fall, Oh, Vicksburg, was our knell ! 

And every shot and crashing shell 

That struck thee, crushed our hearts as well. 



28 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

'Tis hard to stifle vengeful ire; 
'Tis hard to smother rebel fire. 
Thy capture sends the hot blood yet 
Swift coursing; nor can we forget 
The visions, scarcely dimmed till then, 
Of what our future might have been. 
That passed from us like sunlight when 
Eclipse, or dungeons close o'er men. 

Now Inverstain was oft the home 
Of soldiers who had westward come 
To seek again the strength they lost 
When, camping mid the snows and frost; 
Or, fever-weakened in some tent 
Or hospital, were homeward sent. 
That care on them, which would be spent 
To others helpless, could be lent. 

And Eva gave these kindly thought, 

To comfort and relieve; and sought. 

With womanly and winning ways, 

To make less long the dreary days 

Of pain and fever; and she oft 

Would read God's Word. So low and soft 

Her gentle voice, its melody 

Would soothe them, like a lullaby. 



Sometimes Death's shadow hovered there; 
And then her earnest, pleading prayer 
Swift rising to the Father's throne, 
Flung wide unto the dying one 
The gates of faith. When the surcease 
Of pain told of the soul's release, — 
The latest breath ere life would cease 
Bore Eva's name to realms of peace. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 29 

The Summer let her mantle fall; 
The Autumn, for hers, gathered all 
The richest hues the rainbow wears. 
Rejecting but its falling tears; 
Then Indian Summer's hazy glow 
Gave place to Winter's ice and snow — 
And all this while no cheering word 
From Ivan. Eva's bosom stirred; 
Her life's fair page, so darkly blurred, 
Showed impress of wild rumors heard. 

Yet through this weary time think not 
That Ivan Vaughn was e'er forgot. 
For Eva's thoughts at morn were given 
To him ; her latest sigh at even. 
Yet ne'er a murmuring word she said 
These gloomy years, so slowly sped. 
But patiently she bowed her head 
Like Jephthah's child to Mizpah led. 

One bright Spring morn a soldier came — 
She did not know, nor ask his name. 
He told her he had " left the ranks. 
And had been serving under Banks." 
" A Yankee, and deserter too ! " 
Quick thro' her mind this verdict flew; 
But 'twas unspoke, the ghastly hue 
Of his worn face her pity drew. 

And there was something in his face 
Which held her spellbound; and to trace 
What 'twas, unconscious she began 
His form and features both to scan. 
'Twas like a glimpse of mountain streams 
So distant, that it only seems 
We hear them ; like those wakeful gleams 
Of that strange life we live in dreams. 



30 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

He sat down on the step beside 
Her feet, and said, " Ah, had I died. 
And had not seen thee, lady, then 
My life's work had unfinished been. 
I've sought your father, far and near, 
For many a day — aye, many a year ; 
And but for this mad war I fear 
I ne'er had bent my footsteps here. 



"And now I've scarcely time to say 
Half that I must, ere Death shall lay 
His seal upon my lips. E'en now 



"Ha, Allonais ! whence comest thou?" 
Fierce broke these words from Landeneau, 
Now hurrying forth. " My hidden woe 
Com'st thou to mock — the long ago 
I would my child should never know ? " 

But Eva sprang quick to his side, 
Caught his uplifted arm and cried: 
" Oh, father ! in this anger wild 
Deny not thou thy pleading child. 
The man is dying. Let him rest 
Beneath our roof. Within thy breast 
Keep what thou wilt. As thy behest 
Shall be thy wish, I make no quest." 

And Landeneau looked on the face 
Upturned to his. Its tender grace 
Subdued his wrath ; he drew her head 
Close to his bosom, while he said: 
"My child, my child, I would for aye 
Shield thee from knowledge which may prey 
Upon thy peace — to ashen gray 
Change all thy sky in life's young day. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 31 

" Now thou must know. For who can say 
Why this man sought our home to-day?" 
The stranger spoke : " Wilt thou not hear 
Words which this mystery will clear? " 
But as he spoke a crimson tide 
Flowed from his lips ; and Eva tried 
To staunch it. When the life-blood red 
And bright had ceased, she placed his head 
Upon her lap — with nameless dread 
She whispered, " Father, is he dead? " 

Her father started. Like a stone 

Till then he stood, or more like one 

Who had been walking in his sleep. 

And wakened suddenly. A deep- 

Drawn sigh he breathed, then said, " No, no ! 

Twice 1 have seen his life blood flow. — 

He is not dead. But he must go 

Within. Come hither, men, what ho ! " 

His servants hastened to obey 

Their master's bidding. And when they 

Had borne the stranger in, and laid 

Him down, and constant efforts made 

To bring life back again, he breathed ; 

While child-like smiles his pale lips wreathed. 

As if of every thought relieved 

That had his heart or other's grieved. 



b' 



He breathed again; but clouded o'er 
His mind ; he saw the stains of gore 
On Eva's hands and dress. He sprang 
Upon his feet. The cry that rang 
Throughout the house, through dale and wood 
Far echoed, and chilled Eva's blood : 
Till now, she by his side had stood. 
And sought to soothe him as she could. 



32 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

He sank exhausted down, and moaned 
While Landeneau in anguish groaned. 
Quick Eva turned, fled to her room ; 
Her brain seemed reeling thro' the gloom 
Of twilight. On the soft still air 
Thence rose to God her earnest prayer : 
" Thou in whose hands all creatures are, 
Bend low to me, give me thy care." 

She changed her dress, bathed hands and face, 

Removing every bloody trace, 

And then with noiseless step she sought 

The chamber whence she fled. She thought 

It held some skeleton of fear 

Whose shadow had been hovering near 

Unheeded o'er her many a year — 

And now — " why should its form appear? " 



She reached the threshold. Allonais 
In quiet sleep before her lay. 
The lamplight fell across his face, 
And startled her ; for she could trace 
Those features' likeness to her own — 
Tho' pale and thin they now had grown. 
She turned the light away — and torn 
With fears, for what must yet be borne. 

She softly left the room. Eftsoon 
She saw the white light of the moon 
Break thro' a rifted cloud, and fall 
As though in blessing over all. 
Then saw her father with fixed gaze, 
Still turned where sunset embers' blaze 
Had flamed and paled, to pierce the maze 
(If that could be) of future days. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 33 

She stood a moment, then went near, — 
She ne'er had held him half so dear. 
With pain, she marked upon his brow 
The trace of care grown deeper now. 
He turned to her- — sat down and said: 
" Come hither. Though the time has fled 
For childlike faith, — ill has sped 
The day when storms break overhead." 

She knelt beside him ; on his breast 
Laid her young head in perfect rest. 
She thought of all his tenderness ; 
To others, hard; but gentleness 
Itself he ever was to her. 
What tho' some mem'ry now should stir 
From out its grave — some darksome blur 
Upon his soul. 'Twas hid from her 

In love and pity. Should it quit 
Its grave, let God in judgment sit. 
While thus she thought, a calmness stole 
Within her breast and soothed her soul. 
One soft hand gently pressed his head, 
Stroked his w^hite beard, while low she said: 
" Dear father, let whatever come, 
Thy child's full faith has here its home. 
What tho' the storm-clouds burst above, 
The fragments flash back God's great love, 
And peace thereafter, like a dove, 
Rests in the heart where passions strove." 

Her words fell, like the lotus balm, 
Upon his heart; it grew more calm. 
More strong his purpose to effect — 
To let her read the retrospect 
Of one sad time : 'Twere best that she 
Should learn from him this mystery ; 



34 'IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Nor wait until some enemy 
Again should wake it suiddenly. 

" Go, Eva, see yon suffering man 
Shall lack for naught. His little span 
Of life, I think, is nearly gone," 
He said. " Let all that may, be done 
To ease or cure him; let it be 
No want of any courtesy 
That he shall die. So, do thou see 
He has good care. Then come to me." 

" He's well attended. Conrad Neille — 
Who came to-day — and kind Emile 
De Velas, and the Surgeon, too, 
Are with him now. What they can do 
To comfort him, they will ; then let 
No thought of him thy feelings fret. 
I would this man thou couldst forget. 
His coming brings thee such regret." 

He answered not her words, but spoke 
As if half-conscious that he broke 
The still night air: *' As fair as thou 
Thy mother wast, my child. Her brow 
As pure as thine, her voice as sweet ; 
Her heart as glad, as light her feet, 
To bring me joy. And yet so fleet 
To bring me woe ; and him to meet. 

" Long arid years have gone since then ; 
And weary was their passing when 
I sought some respite to my grief — 
The aftermath of bliss so brief — 
In this far land. Forgetfuilness 
I knew would ne'er my spirit bless. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 35 

But here I hoped my watchfulness 
Would shield thee from this wretchedness: 

" 'Twas vain ! And now has come the time 
When thou must know thy father's crime. 
I am no craven, Eva, yet 
The task which Fate and I have set 
For me this night, I find to be 
Most hard indeed. I ask from thee 
No verdict kind; but tenderly 
Keep thou thy mother's memory." 

The old man put her back from him 
And went amid the shadows dim; 
Walked back and forth ; returned anon, 
Then turned again, and still walked on, 
As if to gather full control 
O'er voice and heart and surging soul. 
And when he spoke again there stole 
A quiet sadness through the whole. 

" Hast thou no dream of brighter skies, 
Blue-mirrored o'er thine infant eyes? 
Of mountains rising from the sea. 
Whose feet the waves wash constantly? 
Whose brows the sun's first arrows caught 
On visors which the ice-king wrought. 
Of off'rings that each snowstorm brought. 
Through ages passing human thought? 

" Hast thou no dream of shadowy vales 
Between these; nor of fairy tales 
Heard there, that waked thy faith in lore 
Of magic ? — urging thee explore 
Each crag and cave, and dark abyss, 
For fairy elves in mystic bliss, 
Until we feared some search like this 
Would make thee brave the sea-foam's kiss?" 



36 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

" True, father, I have sat sometimes 
Forgetful midst my childhood's mimes. 
A flitting cloud, a bird, a tone, 
Half roused some feeling past and gone. 
I missed in mem'ry's chain some link, 
And shut my eyes and tried to think, 
If spirits stand upon the brink 
Of other life — then backward shrink. 



" I've had — wast memories ? — like these, — 
Of sunny skies, and wind-tossed seas; 
Of deep, dark caves, whose walls of stones 
Forever echo murmuring tones ; 
Of mountains, and of mountain streams, 
'Till thought grew weary. Now, it seems. 
There surely were some truthful gleams 
Of former being midst these dreams. 

" And, then, my heart has yearned to know 
Why should these fancies come and go? 
But, father, save 'tis best for thee, 
Let this sad tale unspoken be." 

" Nay, but it nT,ust. Those mountains lay, 
Down sloping, to a lovely bay 
Where sunshine with the shadows play, 
O'er white-crest waves, the live-long day. 



" Four happy years, a glad, bright life 
I dwelt there, with my child-like wife; 
Four happy years, — so short, so sweet, 
So full of every joy complete, — 
I envied not the king, his throne; 
The sage his wisdom. And my own 
Fair lot would have exchanged with none 
When thou didst come. 'Twas all undone 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 37 

" My Eva suddenly become, 
So grave, so different — that some 
Deep feeling moved her, well I knew. 
Still I believed my wife was true 
To me as steel. Her cheeks bright glow 
I saw would often paler grow, 
Then flush, as if some undertow 
Within her heart would ebb and flow. 

" What could it be ? was all my thought, 
That to her bosom trouble brought? 
And so I racked my throbbing brain 
To bring her spirit joy again. 
Myself alone I yet would blame, 
For still she was to me the same 
Dear loving wife. One day I came 
To give her sweet surprise. Her name 

" I heard a stranger call, and I 
Saw my own wife, in answer fly 
To meet him ; saw him clasp her form 
In fond embrace, while kisses warm 
He pressed upon her glowing cheek. 
I stood like stone ; I could not speak. 
For heart, and brain, and limbs grew weak — 
Till roused, a dire revenge to wreak. 

"I strove to think; — could only feel 
A dumb, dead pain my blood congeal. 
The ecstasy of wretchedness 
Had filled me with such bitterness 
I left them there. I stole away 
As felons creep from light of day, — 
My soul a hell, my heart a flame. 
The tortures of the lost are tame 
To this. I watched, till thrice he came, — 
But why prolong this tale of shame? 



38 'IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

" I watched, with guarded tongue and gaze 
Unpitying, three fearful days. 
The evening of the third I saw 
My wife some hidden package draw 
From out its place; and when she gave 
It him, she bade him haste to save 
Himself. What was the warning drave 
Her thus to fear his yawning grave? 



"Ha! should he dare my wrath evade? 
A moment more, my keen-edged blade 
Flashed from its sheath ; buit — 'twas my zvife, 
Flung 'twixt us, who received the knife. 
Oh, God ! It was a maddening sight 
That seared my throbbing brain. The flight 
Of years has brought me small respite 
From woe begun that fearful night. 

" I caught her, snatched my poinard and 
Struck at my foe. Perhaps my hand 
Unsteady in my horror grew. 
I saw him fall, and never knew 
Till now that he lived on; but I 
Bore Eva to her room; and by 
The anxious fear within her eye. 
While earnestly she bade me fly 

" With thee ; bade me believe her true 
As heaven to me; the cold death-dew 
Upon her brow, I knew that I 
Must lay my darling down to die. 

' Haste thou to leave this land,' she said ; 

* A price, e'en now, is on thy head. 
Fly for my sake — our babe's. I dread 
Lest thou too long ' She gasped — was dead.' 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 39 

A long deep silence 'twixt them fell, 
As if they listened to the knell 
Re-echoing from vanished years, 
Too strangely sad for grateful tears. 
Anon, the leaves above them stirred, 
And soon the voice of mocking-bird 
Poured forth such peace as never heard 
In human song, or human word. 

Too soon the minstrel spread its wing 

'Mid other scenes and groves to sing; — 

But never listeners blest its lay 

With half the fervor as did they. 

For to their spirits, over-wrought 

By suffering, that song had brought 

A quiet hopefulness full-fraught 

With strength, far more than stoics taught. 

Then Eva in a cheerful tone 

Said, *' Father, what is past, is gone 

Forever from our wish or will ; 

And though we feel the traces still, 

Of scathing pain, or scorching woe. 

As memory will backward flow, — 

It is not well that we forego 

What yet of joy our hearts may know. 

" The Lethe of the olden time 
From youth or age or manhood's prime 
Took only that which could but grieve, 
And ever still, would to them leave 
The thought of joy each season bore, — 
The brightness which each heaven wore, — 
The afterglow that sometimes more 
Is prized than sunshine gone before. 



40 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

" I count those lives as spent in vain 
In which are clouds sought after rain. 
I'd write — ' Implora place'' on 
Whatever cannot be undone; 
And strive — mayhap with graver mien 
To walk with firm sure tread again, 
Until I reach the open plain 
Where we may peace eternal gain. 

" Hast thou not seen our prairies wide, 
When after raging fire has tried, 
How black beneath the bright blue sky, 
Seared, withered, desolate they lie? 
But days pass by, on silent wing, 
And rain and wind their healing bring. 
Lo ! soon the grass and flowers spring, 
And beauty o'er the landscape fling." 

Her father bent his head to speak, 
And tear-drops glistened on his cheek 
And fell upon the daughter's face 
As he gave back her fond embrace. 
She knew, then, that her words had given 
To him that peace which he had striven 
To gain so long. The rock was riven ; 
And from his breast despair was driven. 

Then Eva pointed to the glare 
Which gleamed from open casement where 
The lamplight 'scaped dispelling gloom 
'Twixt them and yonder sick man's room. 
A faint uncertain ray of light. 
As if 'twere struggling into sight, 
And gathering steadiness and might 
To force a pathway through the night. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 41 

'' See, father, how that single ray 
Despite the darkness finds its way 
Until about our feet it fall. 
And thus thy child may, after all, 
The glim'ring- light for thee have caught 
Which cruel fate witheld thy thought. 
And which these weary years had brought 
That respite thou hast vainly sought. 

" Come, father, there is Conrad Neille 
Now seeking us. I own, I feel, 
All eager for a presence — more 
Than ever felt for one before." 
She turned to Conrad quickly ; and 
Upon his arm she laid her hand, — 
Impatient said: "Why dost thou stand 
Like one awaiting some command? 



"How is the stranger? Does he well?" 
Her tone was softer, as it fell 
Upon his ear, and Conrad knew 
By its full pathos that some true 
And earnest feeling moved her ; — deeps 
He could not sound such spirit keeps. 
And so, he answered, " Yes, he sleeps, 
Murmurs thy name, anon he weeps." 

" Then lead me to him, for I trust 
Bright hopes to realize. I must 
Be near him as he wakens. Then 
As consciousness returns, and when 
His eyes rest on my face, he'll say 
The words he fain had spoke to-day, — 
And after that a seal we'll lay 
Upon those sad events for aye." 



42 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Here let us leave them. Allonais 
Had gained his consciousness, and they 
Heard him the long-ago explain, 
When lack of faith brought crime and pain, — 
Knew the deep wrong which ne'er could be 
Undone throughout Eternity, 
To the fond wife who carefully 
Screened out-lawed brother secretly. 

That when 'twas known her husband's name 

Should bear no tittle of the blame 

Of hiding from their Majesties 

The enemy of dynasties, — 

Oh, woman's heart, so strong to bear 

Whatever wrong, or woe, or care 

Falls to thy loved one's lives. — Yet rare 

These crucifixions valued are. 



But Conrad left them at the door. 
For 'neath the trees he had seen more 
Than Eva or her father did. 
There, by dim shadows almost hid, 
A man approaching, bending low; 
Each step made painfully and slow 
On crutches, and seemed thus to go, 
With mind and body full of woe. 



The moon had sunken low, and now 
Emerged from clouds, and o'er the brow 
Of that bowed man flung weird-like gleam,- 
Pale, faint, uncertain. " Do I dream," 
Thought Conrad, " or do I look on 
The changed frame of Ivan Vaughn? 
Or was this but a shadow, wan, 
Which came with feeling long agone ? " 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 43 

He had seen Ivan, when the fight 
Of one fierce battle closed with night, 
Dead on the field; wide staring eyes, 
Upturned to cold, unpitying skies, 
While from the wouinds the clotted gore, 
Stagnant and chill, could run no more; 
The livid face, so proud of yore. 
He marked had only blankness wore. 

" Could one from such a death awake, 
And once again life overtake? 
No ! No ! The shot which laid him low 
Meant but to wound — yet well I know 
'Twas aimed too surely. Could I tell 
'Twould do its mission half so well? 
But why such thoughts within me dwell ? ' 
Have I weak qualms, at last, to quell? " 

" Begone, such fancies ! 'Tis too late. 

E'en if I would, to strive with fate," 

Thus thinking, with impatient stride 

He soon stood by the stranger's side. 
" Come, friend," said he, " art thou in quest 

Of food, and shelter, and sweet rest? 

If so, be yonder mansion's guest. 

It welcomes Southrons, with warm zest." 

'Twas well the shadows of the night 
Hid that stern face from Conrad's sight ; 
But as it was, nor word, nor tone. 
Betrayed the voice was Ivan's own. 
He said, " To strangers — even me — 
Is welcome, sometimes, charity. 
I must decline thy courtesy. 
And yet I do so gratefully. 



44 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

" Both food and rest are waiting me, 
Wliene'er I choose; 'twould therefore be 
Ungen'rous 'vantage of thy thought, 
To use thy kindness, e'en unsought. 
I've wandered, mayhap, aimlessly, 
To this fair grove, and thoughtlessly 
O'erheard some voices, which, maybe, 
Were those of guests we yonder see." 

" Nay, not of guests," said Conrad. " There 
A father and his daughter were 
Conversing earnestly to-night. 
Thou hear'st their voices? Am I right? 
To them this home, these grounds, belong. 
But though they've lived here for so long 
And won attachments deep and strong — • 
Suspicions rise of some great wrong: 

" What didst thou hear ? Wilt thou not say ? 
If so, I'll for thy trouble pay 
What sum thou wilt. This mystery 
I fain would solve. 'Twill ever be 
An insulating, vexing wall. 
That rears, impassably, to all 
Who seek their friendship. You may call 
It pride or folly, after all. 

" It is the same. Into this walk 
They came, and were engaged in talk 
For hours, that had an earnest tone. 
I saw them, while the moonlight shone. 
But when the darkness shadows threw, 
The hours interminable grew. 
At last, impatient, near I drew 
But only to be vexed anew. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 45 

" Thy pardon, stranger, but this much 
I had to tell, though mayhap such 
A gossip suiteth not thy mood; 
But thou canst make it fetch thee good. . 
Thou'st heard that which I vainly sought 
To know ; tell what thine ears have caught ; 
It may with meaning deep be fraught 
To me, although to others naught." 

" Not now ! Not now ! See where the light 
Streams from yon window, calm and bright, 
There is some stir. Methinks there came 
A cry from thence. Hark ! 'Tis thy name 
We hear." But Conrad Nielle was gone 
Ere the last word : And now alone 
Stood Ivan Vaughn. In bitter tone 
He hissed: "Forgot! For such an one! 

" A would-be felon, who would steal 
The thoughts we choose not to reveal. 
Oh, Eva ! Eva ! Can this be 
Thy payment of my love for thee? 
I will not yet believe the tale 
They told to me. Shall words avail 
To deaden faith ? — thy truth assail ? — 
And falsehood with my soul prevail ? 



" Falsehood, said I ? And yet Emile 
Was well convinced, ere he could feel 
Suspicion's anger; others, too — 
My friends for years, both staunch and true, 
Who ne'er would use an idle jest 
As earnest of their friendship's zest? 
Nor yet repeat such gossip lest 
They knew, — their silence were not best. 



46 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

" To-night I heard her low, sweet voice 
Vibrate, as it has made rejoice 
My inmost soul. And oh ! too well 
I know the gentle, minor swell 
Arises but from tender strings 
Which have no selfish quiverings. 
I saw — But why recount these things 
And sharpen disappointment's stings? 



Soon, soon the heralds of the dawn 
Will light this grove and lovely lawn. 
And I would once more see her face, 
Or ere again I take my place 
On battle-field. Its mem'ry will 
Steal o'er my heart like sunlight till 
Eolian symphonies will thrill. 
Which, Memnon-like, time cannot still." 

He ceased and slowly turned away 
Just as the amber light of day 
Streamed far up in the eastern sky. 
He turned away, without a sigh 
To tell of loneliness intense. 
So deep, it numbed his every sense. 
He reached his horse, bestrade it, thence 
He slowly rode, and cared not whence: 

The days crept on ; and once again 
He stood upon the battle-plain. 
Thin were the ranks, and scanty then. 
For death had claimed so many men. 
There were strange rumors in the air, 
Of doubt and woe, and grim despair, 
Of how the South drooped everywhere, — 
Nor burden of such odds could bear. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 47 

What boots this now? The end grew near. 

Surrender ! Did he rightly hear 

The fearful whisper? Each strong heart 

Grew still, then quivered with the smart 

Of that dull pain which scorns all art 

Of human cunning to impart 

To ear or parchment, — felt the dart 

Must be, or ere the knowledge start. 



And Ivan, better schooled for it 

By his own past, strove to submit, 

As brave men should. Hid his own pain, 

That thus he better might sustain 

The shaken fortitude of those 

Who ne'er had blenched in front of foe ; — 

Who firmly bore war's grimmest woes, 

But needed strength for this sad close. 



Strength for the turning to each home, 
That had all desolate become ; 
Strength, each, for meeting with his wife 
And loved ones, after this long strife ; 
For picking up each broken thread 
Of life, 'mid hopes forever fled; 
For soothing each bowed, aching head 
That bent in anguish o'er the dead. 



Take courage, friends," he said. " I know 
How much we need it, for this blow. 
He is a braver man, who bears 
It stoutly, than the one who wears 
The scars frdm well-fought battle-field; 
Or he who * sleeps upon his shield.' 
For greater they, their souls, who wield 
That dearer than this life to yield." 



48 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Their hearts grew firm, though each stern face 
Of that fierce struggle bore the trace. 
When came the order " Arms to stack," 
They did so calmly, turning back, 
As we, when by a friend we stand 
The " last, last time." And once a band 
Played, " Take Me Home to Southern Land," 
And tears were dashed by strong men's hand. 

We could not ope the folded leaf 
Whereon is writ these scenes of grief, 
Which rack the soul and pale the brow — 
With feeling less than holy now. 
But we would some dear mem'ry save. 
As when we take one treasured wave 
Of hair from those with tears we lave, 
And leave the rest unto the grave. 



The soldiers grasped each other's hand. 
Then scattered through the Southern Land, 
Nor could they well repress the sigh 
In that eternal sad " good-bye." 
But ah ! how little could they guess 
Their South should know such wretchedness 
As demagogues strove hard to press 
On her proud spirit, in distress. 

Thank God ! those bitter days are past. 

And we have brighter hopes at last. 

A fever came, and ope'd the door 

For kinder thoughts than went before. 

The great hearts of the people rose 

And thrilled once more with human throes, — 

Forgot we had been former foes, 

And sought to soothe some weary woes. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 49 

But let us turn our thoughts again 
To those who dweU at Inverstain. 
Sweet Eva knew that Ivan Vaughn 
Surrendered." But where he had gone? 
She did not know. Why, from her side 
He hngered, when war's stranded tide 
Had left them freedom to decide 
When she should be his happy bride. 

Near Inverstain his homestead lay, 
His tenants said, " He came one day 
And walked about, as if in sleep 
Or stricken by some sorrow deep; 
At times a letter he had read, 
Then silent sat, with bended head. 
Till long, sad hours had slowly sped. 
As if his aims in life were fled." 



He went away ; but whither none 
Could tell. They thought that he had gone 
To foreign lands ; he'd bade them stay, — 
He " might return some future day." 
These simple folk loved Eva, who 
W^as kind to them ; and now they knew 
Something was wrong between these two, 
Which they were anxious to undo. 



She questioned none. A dull, cold pain 
Was sorely pressing heart and brain. 
" He has been near," she said, " nor sought 
My presence. What such change has wrought 
In him, who was the best of men ? " 
And there were weary moments when 
As if some weird energumen 
Had stupefied her reason then. 



50 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Thus days, and months, and years rolled on 
Without a word from Ivan Vaughn, 
And Conrad Neille had sought again 
The hand of Eva — still in vain ; 
Yet she was kind, for when there came 
A time when well-deserved shame 
O'ertook and blighted Conrad's name 
She gave him neither scorn nor blame. 

She never asked if suffering were 
The cause of guilt or wrong. For her 
It was enough misfortune fell, 
To make her heart with pity swell. 
Her own life was so lone and sad — 
Such sorrov/ and such shadow had — 
She would have made all others glad, 
Believing few were truly bad. 

Beyond the Mississippi's waves, 

Where tide of Pacagoula laves 

With fickle coquletry's caress 

The sands, which soft winds lightly press, 

Emile and Ivan watch the flow 

Of white-capped breakers 'neath the glow 

Of sunset sheen, nor little know 

The same thoughts through each bosom go. 

Time sets his signet unawares : 
Their faces held the trace of cares. 
They had together traveled far, 
For sweet contentment, since the war, — 
And found in lands beyond the seas 
Ubiquitous — earth's miseries. 
And now the water's symphonies 
Brought to each heart dear memories. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 51 

At length Emile De Velas holds 
A letter, and its page unfolds. 
" My friend," he said, " if I discern 
This meaning rightly, 'twill concern 
Thee somewhat. Listen : * Is it vain 
Request that thou to Inverstain 
Wilt come without delay? I fain 
Would see thee — ere too late — again." 



" Oh, friend ! " said Ivan, while his breath 
Came quick and hard. — " Can it be death 
Is near my darling? Hasten thou. 

It may be 'too late' ! even now 

But no ! I've heard a rumor grim, 
That Conrad sees the daylight dim 
Thro' grated bars. I own the whim, 
To hide from thee this guilt of him." 



" Her husband's guilt ! Thou canst not know 
How bitter to my soul this blow. 
It may be for his sake, she writes. 
And thy kind presence thus invites. 
If this be true, give careful heed. 
Both influence and gold he'll need 
Ere his acquittal be decreed. 
Use what I have, and that with speed: 

" No protest, friend. If it gave peace 
To her dear heart, gain his release. 
Nor tell her whence thine aid. Perhaps 
When years to age shall have their lapse, 
Some thought of me within her mind 
Shall rise as soft and half-defined 
As perfume floating on the wind, 
And make some memory sweet and kind." 



52 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

They parted then, as friends oft part, 
With vague forebodings in each heart — 
A subtle sadness creeping through 
The kindly words of man's adieu. 
Though soon they hoped to meet again. 
Each felt the hope was almost vain; 
As if the words from Inverstain 
Cast silhouettes o'er either brain. 



Long Ivan listened to the moan 
Of breaking waves when left alone. 
We all have had that feeling strange, 
Which warns us of some coming change 
For good or ill. 'Tis Heaven sent — 
We call it a presentiment, — 
As if we suddenly are lent 
A prophet's glimpse of some event. 

Oh ! happy those who at such times, — 

E'en though their souls be seared with crimes,- 

Will to our God their troubles take. 

And pray for help for Jesus' sake. 

But in these days of unbelief 

Few, few will seek this sure relief. 

And Ivan silent bore his grief 

With this deep comfort — " Life is brief." 

Emile De Velas once more stood 
Beneath the shadows of the wood 
Of Inverstain. The sun was low. 
Its last, bright arrows burnished glow, 
Flashed golden splendor where they fell 
On leaf or lawn ; and then the spell 
Of song rose soft, with mournful swell, 
As from some stricken peri's cell. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 53 

Emile walked slowly, till he saw 
Through open casement, with some awe. 
Old Inverstain's proud master lay- 
Athwart his couch. A little way 
From him was Eva; o'er her head 
The sunset radiance brightly spread, 
And mingling w4th each waving thread 
A glowing halo round it spread, 

" Sing, daughter, what is in thy heart, 
For soothing is sweet music's art. 
Sing what thou wilt, nor hesitate 
And cheerful spirits reinstate," 
Said Landeneau, with pathos deep 
For she had hushed her song to weep. 
Now o'er the strings her fingers sweep, 
And soon her voice rose full and deep. 

" Oh, Harp of Poesy once more 
With trembling touch I sweep thy strings ! 
And bid thee o'er my spirit pour 
A flood of song from Lethean springs. 
I must have respite from the pain 
I've tried so long in vain to quell. 
Then oh, my harp ! send forth a strain 
Whence only tender memories dwell. 



" Send forth for me some quick'ning thrill, 
To melt the frozen fount of tears ; 
That I may bid my heart be still 
And bear the burden of these years ; — 
In whose slow flight grief's weary pain 
Has mocked the loving trust of youth. 
Perhaps, through thee, o'er me again 
Shall fall the blessed hope of truth. 



54 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

" For once within this heart of mine, 
E'er o'er it swept woe's Hghtning scathe, 
There rose to love and truth a shrine, 
Its consecrated priestess Faith; 
But dark and cold that shrine so fair — 
The holy fire has faded out, 
Which burned upon the altar where 
Now crusted lies the grime of doubt. 

" It is thy soothing notes alone 
Can thrill me with a joyful ray ; 
Perhaps thy power can roll the stone 
From Faith's deep grave at last away. 
Then let thy swelling tones, my lyre, 
Awake from death-like silentness. 
Relight again the altar fire. 
And lull my soul to quietness." 

The notes died tremblingly away, 
As twilight told the death of day. 
The echoes in their soft reply 
Were like a spirit's answ'ring sigh, — 
So low, so sweetly, strangely sad 
Such strains of sympathy each had. 
If heard too long 'twould move the glad 
With anguish deep, till almost mad. 

Emile would have these echoes broke, 
But stood spellbound till Eva spoke. 
" I cannot sing a happy song. 
This burden has been borne too long. 
Slow-dropping wears the hardest rock 
More surely than the sudden shock; 
And quicksands that most firmly lock. 
Their presence, with smooth waters mock. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 55 

" I never turned my face away 
From sorrow ; but have tri'ed a'lway 
To comfort give. Then why must I 
Thus suffer on — yet cannot die? 
Have I some duty yet to fill? 
Ah, well ! I'd tread life's grinding mill, 
Where peace and hope are crushed, until 
The end — if 'twere for Southland still. 



" Ah, murmuring heart ! Once more I'll sing, 
Dear father, for thy comforting, 
And then forgive me, if I lay 
My harp in silentness away. 
Unconscious oft I wake a strain 
Which resurrects the thronging train 
Of joys, air-castles — hopes as vain ; — 
My o'er-pent soul then writhes in pain." 

' No answer came from Landeneau. 
His thin hand hid his eyes; bent low 
His daughter's head. De Velas came 
Close to their side, spoke Eva's name. 
Quick to her feet in sweet surprise 
She rose. The twilight's soft disguise 
Veiled not the starlight from her eyes, 
That welcomed ere her voice replies: 

" Oh, friend, dear friend ! All words are vain 
To speak my thanks that you again 
Came at our call, and came at once. 
It was a generous response. 
My father, being ill of late. 
To see you was importunate; 
Until the wish became so great 
It seemed new fever to create." - 



56 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

She clasped his hand between her own, 

Which more than words has ever shown 

The heart's deep thrill. The lights were brought, 

He saw her features overfraught 

With earnestness, and then she led 

Him gently to her father's bed, — 

Knelt softly, kissed that still, white head, — 

Started in shuddering fear — " Dead ! dead? " 



She cried, " No, no ! He could not go 

From life and leave me to such woe ! 

Speak, father, once more to thy child ! 

But bush ! hush ! suirely I am wild. 

We'll wait, Emile, and quiet keep. 

There, shade the lamp. We'll watch his sleep. 

Hist ! Is not that his breathing deep ? 

He'll wake anon. Ha ! dost thou weep ? 

" Would God I could. But burning eyes 
Dry up sweet tears ere they arise. 
When simoons sweep 'neath Eastern skies 
A parched waste behind them lies : — 
Thus my poor brain. And what I am — 
Have been — may be — life's cruel sham 
Throughout 'tis all." Her face grew calm, 
As if she drank of lotus-balm. 



She laid her head upon the breast 

So still in death's eternal rest. 

As she had often done. The sweep 

Of years rushed by — she fell asleep. 

The numbing brain, where melted lead 

Seemed coursing through — all thought instead 

Could not retain its broken thread 

As yet, and know her father dead. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 57 

Friends gathered there. They watched the sleep 

Of both — unHke, yet like. So deep, 

So passing calm, but for the trace 

Of shadowed care on Eva's face. 

They could have thought she too were gone 

From life with all its trials done. 

And that strange scene of death not one 

Could look with tearless eyes upon. 



" Disturb her not," the doctor said, 

" Or life indeed may then be sped." 
And three long hours they watched. Each sense 
Grew keen, in silence so intense; 
For not a whispered word was spoke, 
And not the slightest movement broke 
The stillness, lest they should invoke 
The end they feared — ere Eya woke. 

Emile stood from the rest apart, 
With tear-dimmed eyes and aching heart; 
Anon, his mind afar was gone, 
In sympathy with Ivan Vaughn, 
Whose every aim in life, he knew. 
From some sweet thought of Eva grew ; — 
E'en his own presence here was due, 
To hopes for these divided two. 

Again he looked at Eva's face, 
So sweetly sad, in mournful grace. 
Would Ivan Vaughn were here. His eyes 
Could see her truth. " How still she lies ! " 
He spoke unconscious, wondering lest 
If, after all, it were not best 
This child should gain eternal rest 
Upon her father's cold dead breast. 



58 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

But while he gazed upon her thus 
A vision came — which none of us 
Can well explain, till life is o'er. 
Her face grew calmer than before, 
The room spread out in one wide hall, 
With rows of couches ; each and all 
Held dead and dying, while the wall 
Loomed white and bare beyond. — A pall 

Strange, weird, and dark was settling still 

Upon his soul, despite his will. 

He bent to look upon the face 

Of Landeneau, but in its place 

He surely saw — still, rigid, wan — 

The death-stamped face of Ivan Vaughn ; — 

And Eva's head his breast upon. 

One instant, then, the vision's gone. 

Emile came near her, trembling yet, 
To see she lived. His eyes were wet 
With strong emotion. Opening wide 
Her large dry eyes, she muitely tried 
To waken (so it seemed). And then 
She rose up suddenly, as when 
We do not fully comprehend 
The presence of some dreamed-of friend. 

" 'Tis not a dream ! and you are here 
In sooth, Emile. See, Father, dear 



Why dost restrain me thus, Emile? 
Ah, God have pity ! Now I feel 
The fearful truth. Why art thou gone, 
My father? Why must I live on, 
So sadly, mournfully alone, 
That every hope in life is done?" 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 59 

She gently kissed the palHd brow, 
So cold, yet scarcely furrowed now ; 
Pressed her hot cheek against the hair, 
So thin and white. The soft night air 
Fell 'round them, as if to caress. 
Unheeded surely, ne'ertheless 
She felt at last its tenderness. 
And tears began dry lids to press. 

They led her kindly from the room, 
And let her weep or moan, " the gloom 
Might sooner pass." At any rate. 
They knew no words could palliate 
Life's great great sorrow ; — and therefore 
They wisely from all words forebore, 
Each heart, for her too truly sore. 
With cant or text to wound her more. 

Emile and other friends remain 
A few sad days at Inverstain. 
He knew not why he had been called, — 
And Eva's mind was so enthralled 
By her deep grief that she forgot 
All things except that lonely spot 
Where sigh or prayer were answered not, 
Nor tears, though falling fast and hot. 

But hark ! there came a mournful wail 
Of woe, and want, a fearful tale. 
And harrowing. Of hungry death 
Gathering with pestilential breath 
From every home, from every fold. 
The blithe, the young, the grave, the old, 
The warm of heart, and those whose cold 
And callous souls craved only gold. 
It was a wild despairing cry 



6o IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

That rose beneath the Southern sky. 

But words are vain — vain to express 

The human woe, the wretchedness, 

In that sad wail — when hope had fled: — 

A wolfish cry, for daily bread. 

For help to nurse by fever bed — 

To bury out of sight the dead. 

Emile sought Eva's presence; there 
He tried to rouse her from despair; 
From its dull numbness rouse her brain 
And lead her thoughts to life again, 
" Dear friend," said he, " some while ago 
You summoned me. I've come to know 
How I may serve you, ere I go 
Where, Heaven grant, I soothe some woe." 

He told her how the Saffron Foe 

Of human life raged to and fro; 

And how the dead and dying lay 

In numbers greater each new day; 

Until the earth, the air, the sky. 

Looked fateful to each hopeless eye, 

The living in their agony 

Cried out : " Help ! help us ! or we die ! " 

She listened calmly, one pale cheek 

Leaned on her hand ; she did not speak ; 

But knelt beside the grave and said 

Her last farewell unto her dead. 

She rose and turned her pale young face 

Unto Emile. It bore the trace 

Of new resolve. They walked apace 

In silence from that lonely place. 

And then she said, " No matter now 
What was my father's wish, or how 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 6i 

He hoped again to reinstate 
His name thro me among the great 
And grand old famihes, where rest 
Our ancestors, 'neath ahars blest. 
For royal blood, to me, at best 
Seems little more than idle jest. 



E'en my own mother died because 

Her brother scorned a monarch's laws. 

Although that monarch was so near 

A kinsman to my father dear, 

Shall I seek station to regain 

Which brought my parents naught save pain? 

What now, a comfort for me hath? 

Think'st thou, along life's blighted path 

May spring, for me, some aftermath 

To hide the furrows of Fate's wrath? 



" If this could be, — not on a shore 
Where Southland were my home no more. 
Can name or place bring back my youth, — 
My trusting heart, my hope of truth? 
Oh, friend, I am alone ! alone ! 
In saddest fullness of the tone, — 
Of all my girlhood's joys not one 
Remains. All happy thoughts are gone : 

" Yet human hearts, tho' fit to break, 
Some gentle duties yet can make; 
May still some grief or dry some tear, 
For sake of bringing others cheer. 
You tell me of a great despair 
Upon our South, of lack of care 
And woman's nursing. Tell me where 
'Tis needed most. My place is there." 



62 JDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

De Vela's eyes were dim with tears, 

As thought flew backward throuigh the years, 

When this young girl was blithe and gay 

And happy as a bird in May. 

But sorrow-stricken now she stood 

All lonely in her womanhood; 

And in her face he saw the mood 

To give her life for others' good. 

" I would not, if I could gainsay. 
Dear Eva, what thine impulse may 
Point out as surest path to find 
Nepenthe for thy saddened mind. 
But art thou sure : that thou canst bear 
The sights of pain and death, — the wear 
Of soul and body; the despair 
Of woe, which leaves no room for prayer?" 

" These must be brave ! Oh, canst thou think 
I would from any danger shrink? 
Thou sayest the North has sent them aid? 
Shall help from home be still delayed? 
No ! No ! Let's do ouir part. There is 
Within this life such mysteries 
That midst its deepest miseries 
There's balm for saddest memories." 



The Summer time passed on; and oh, 

To those who suffered 'twas so slow ! 

For Sorrow clogs time's feet with lead, 

As joy will give them wings instead. 

And Eva with the nurses went. 

Day after day, till almost spent 

Was her young strength. And yet the pent- 

Up grief had found but little vent. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 63 

One day a message came to her 
Which made her inmost spirit stir. 
" Come quickly," thus it ran, *' or fate 
May make thy coming all too late. 
I dare not die till I reveal 
What I forever would conceal, 
Lest thou, for me, such loathing feel 
'Twould 'gainst me all forgiveness steel." 

" God pity me," she said, " if I 
Should fail to heed his mournful cry." 
She went, and there, with sad surprise, 
She saw the fast bedimming eyes 
Of Conrad Neille. And oh ! the deep, 
The thrilling pathos, in their sweep 
Of her pale face, as if to keep 
Its impress through death's endless sleep. 

" Come nearer, Eva. Let me see 
Thy face," he said, " although to me, 
Each line of care, each trace of tears, 
Pierce like a sword, these later years. 
I love thee. That, I need not tell — 
Thou knowest it ; but, oh, how well 
Thou canst not know ! Let devils tell 
Who grasp at heaven and gain but hell. 

" There, let me clasp thy cool, soft hand, — 
'Twill give me courage, mayhap, and 
'Twill lead me to the viewless brink 
Of Death, where I so soon must sink. 
But listen. Thou hast ne'er forgot 
Thy Ivan Vaughn — and he was not 
E'er false to thee. It was my shot 
Which feird him, when the fight was hot 



64 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

" And fierce that day. And when I sought 
Him midst the slain, a something fraught 
With shame, misgiving, and regret 
Filled me, and has not left me yet. 
We had been boys together; grew 
To manhood so. And but for you 
I still had loved him. Great and true 
He ever was. Could I undo 



" That deed of cowardice and hate, 
I yet might wrestle with this fate. 
I cannot tell thee half. Forgive, 
While yet I see, and hear, and live. 
There, 'tis enough ! Don't turn away 
Thy dear, dear face; but let me lay 
And drink its beauty while 1 may. 
Ah, God ! Death come ! Pray for me, pray ! " 

" Too late," she said at last, " for now 
Thy soul is gone." And o'er his brow 
She passed her treimbling hand, and then 
She closed his eyes ; while " might have been " 
Rang fiercely down the bygone years, 
And locked the fount of woman's tears. 

" If Ivan's truth," she thought, " were hers, 
Why was he silent all these years." 

She looked again upon the form 
Before her there; and tho' still warm, 
The features took the Saffron hue 
So weird, and strange ; and then her true 
Pure nature rose. " Forgive thee ? Yes. 
May God forgive thee none the less. 
Tho' thou didst bring me sore distress. 
Oh, life ! Oh, love ! what nothingness ! " 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 65 

She clasped her pale thin hands upon 
Her paler brow, and then anon 
She roused herself to summon aid. 
The men came in, and gently bade 
Her go. She saw with them Emile, 
Whose dark eyes glanced, like burnished steel, 
One instant o'er dead Conrad Neille, 
Then drooped, as if fain to conceal 



Some feeling deep, now life was gone, — 
Some memory of evil done. 
Emile approached her now and said. 
Would I could stifle, for the dead, 
Ungenerous thought, — as thou canst do. 
But come with me, — one good and true 
Keeps death at bay — that he to you 
May speak. Come, brace thy heart anew," 



He led her thence ; and as they went 

From many a heart a prayer was sent 

From couches where the feeble lay, 

Who knew her kindness day by day. 

Emile, in haste, still led her on. 

Unto a couch apart, whereon 

A figure lay, whose face, so wan, 

Grew bright for her : — 'Twas Ivan Vaughn ! 

He clasped her hands. " At last ! At last ! " 
He murmured eagerly and fast, 
^' My own beloved, thou 'rt come at last ! 
And art mine own, tho' life be past? 
I read once more thy matchless eyes. 
Ere death my vision can disguise. 
And oh, beyond the blue, blue skies 
There's naught I'll half so dearly prize ! 



66 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

" Press thy warm lips upon my brow, 
Careworn for thee — don't leave me now. 
Would God we never more should part, 
And we could die, clasped heart to heart. 
But heed thee: When the angels meet 
My soul, I'll list thy coming feet 
As erewhile here, that I may greet 
Thy spirit first, with welcome sweet. 
'Tis growing dark. And I must die, 
I know too well, — the end draws nigh. 
Emile, true friend, tell all The lapse 
Of these sad years were best perhaps, — 
We know not. Ah, I cannot see 
Thee now, dear love. Wilt sing for me? 
I hunger for thy voice : 'Twill be 
Life's calming, last, sweet lullaby." 



A cruel stillness fell around. 

She tried to sing, but waked no sound. 

She touched his brow — once more grown hot; 

He slowly said, " I hear thee not. 

Art singing, Eva now?" But still 

Her voice refused her anxious will. 

She tried again. A low, sweet thrill 

Of trembling song arose, until 



It gathered strength, and filled the room 
With tender pathos. And the gloom 
Of death and fever seemed awhile 
To be subdued. Adown the aisle 
Between the couches rolled the song, 
And bore such influence along. 
As could to nothing else belong 
At such a time, o'er such a throng: 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH (^^ 

Anon, it grew so soft and low, 
Ears strained to catch the faintest flow 
Of that rare music. Listening, there 
Were spirits lifted from despair. 
But Eva sang for Ivan Vaughn, — 
Kneeling beside him, still sang on, 
Till one long sigh told life was gone — 
Then laid her head his breast upon. 



Emile De Velas watched them both 
With sympathy, and still was loth 
To move or speak. What is it now 
That blanches white his lip and brow? 
He bent his head, and saw with pain 
The vision he at Inverstain 
With prophet's eyes had seen. How plain 
It all before him came again ! 



Dead ! Both dead ! Oh, weary-hearted 
Joined in death, in life so parted ! 
May your spirits wake in gladness 
In that realm unknown to sadness; 
May you find the peace and blessing 
Longed for here, and missed possessing, — 
While through lonely years progressing 
To your presence I am pressing. 

But — what is this?" He clasped his hand 
Upon his brow. He could not stand — 
The room grew dark — and then he fell 
Beside the friends he loved so well. 
The nurses found him there ; and they 
With kindness bore Emile away, 
To watch and sooth him as he lay 
With fever wrestling many a day. 



68 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

In fever, venting out his heart, 
His Hfe, its great unselfish part. 
He babbled of the friends now gone — 
The peerless maid, and Ivan Vaughn. 
She — worshipped as the sainted are, — 
And yet for Ivan, all his care. 
Anon, he stood among the slain — 
Charged treachery on battle-plain 
In wrath ; — exhausted then, again 
His mind returned to Inverstain. 

At last he slowly came once more 
To life, from near the farther shore; 
But without aim, and without care. 
With that dull feeling of despair. 
Born of the thought that all is vain, — 
That broken threads and tangled skein 
Of human effort must remain 
Forever unrestored again. 

Emile sat brooding in this way. 
So sadly weary, when one day 
A stranger came, and gently said ; 
" A package, sir ; found on the dead : 
Witheld from you till now, as best 



Emile scarce heard, for on the crest 
Of Eva's seal he gazed. " Request 
Of hers," he said. 'Twas her bequest. 

Time passed. Again De Velas stood 

Within the darkly shaded wood 

Of Inverstain, and wreathed with flowers 

Two marble shafts. There, many hours. 

With head made bare he came. There come 

About him softly, as they roam, 

The troop of orphans whose glad home 

Emile has made the place become. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 69 

The days have gathered into years, 
And eyes weep less of bitter tears, 
For time has soothed the stricken hearts 
With bahii, that it alone imparts. 
And though it cannot quite erase 
The marks reflected in the face 
Of grief, or pain, or vacant place. 
It brings, at least, a patient grace. 

And, meanwhile, men forgot to brood 
O'er lesser things in angry mood. 
Out South evinced she could be great, 
E'en as the North forgot her hate, 
And when we most expected none 
Had given help, as she had done 
Had war made naught, in years agone. 
For which each should to each atone. 

Divested of each section's poison 

The mind shall gather grateful foison; 

And fireside tales, in years to come. 

Shall consecrate the love of home ; 

And love of country shall be found, 

When North, East, West, and South are bound 

Together honoring each mound, 

Which holds " our dead " as hallowed ground. 



MISCELLANEOUS 



A GREETING TO THE PEOPLE 

(Written for the Exposition at New Orleans.) 

All Hail ! 

Friends from a hundred lands ! 

We come with out-stretched hands, 

With a greeting pure and strong, 

In a symphony of song; 

Which can faintly tell at best 

The earnestness and zest, 

The joyful pride, that starts 

In welcome from our hearts. 

Come, from the frozen lands. 
Of snow and ice-girt strands; 
From where the steppes rise 
To meet the cloud-rimmed skies ; 
From old historic shore. 
And the home of mystic lore ; 
From where the sand-dunes roll 
The dread sirocco's scroll ; 
Where Sphinx's eyes of doom 
Gaze on, with changeless gloom, 
In their dumb questioning 
Of what the ages bring; 
From the green isles in the sea, 
From the lands of minstrelsy ; 

And from the glowing South, 
Whose warm, voluptuous mouth 
Ever blesses noblest deeds 
With her tender, loving creeds, — 
As generous as the sweep 
Of her rivers, broad and deep; 
7Z 



74 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

From the farther scant-trod plains 

Of uncivilized domains; 

From the wide, wide Ocean's shores, 

Which every clime explores — 

We welcome, welcome all ! 

May great blessing on you fall ! 

But — if selfish, be it so — 
We would give a warmer glow 
In the greeting to " Our Own " — 
From our home, so greatly grown. 
Just as brothers welcome back 
Others from divergent track, 
Thus, we fain would sweetest song 
Give to them amid this throng. 
Ye from North, and from the East; 
From the Midland, from the West ; 
From the Southland — not the least — 
Warm your welcome, and the best ! 

We quarreled in the olden time — 
'Tis the burden of many a rhyme ; — 
Nor do we forget to-day. 
Nor can we forget alway 
A tribute of love to pay. 
To those " who wore the gray." 
And the sigh of anguish born 
Of our loss should meet no scorn, 
But a sympathy deep and strong. 
As to the bereaved belong, — 
Should over your hearts be stealing. 
To quiver their chords of feeling. 

The furrows of time are deep, 
And into their depths we sweep 
All save the love and regret 
For those we cannot forget, 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 75 

Who stood 'neath the upas-shade 

Of Fate, where our shrines were made. 

No matter whatever we thought, 
The battle was waged and fought. 
Now together we'll seek to find 
If a common interest will bind 
Our hearts with a closer tie ; 
To strive for a place so high, 
So bright, in the annals of Fame 
That shall crown with honored name 
When hundreds of years are done, 
In this land near the setting sun. 
List to the mighty flow 
As our river waters go. 
Will ye heed the lessons they teach? 
As they haste the ocean to reach ? 

Born amid the norther lakelets, 
Winter-fed by snowy flakelets, 
Small and weak its way beginning. 
Still persistent, it is winning; 
Gathering strength as it grows older, 
Pebbles, brush, nor even boulder, — 
Naught can change its destiny. 
Onward, onward now 'tis going, 
Through the midland now 'tis flowing — 
Ever onward to the sea. 

From right and left with giant's grasp 

It takes and holds within its clasp 

Whate'er it will, eternally. 

Through the Southland bloom and heather, 

Warming in the pleasant weather, 

Flowing grandly, thus together 

Mutely binding all forever. 



76 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

By the mingling of the rivers, 

Into one, by which the givers 

Each shall reach its destiny, 

In the bosom of the sea. 

If we choose to read it well, 

Here's our nation's parallel : — 

Oh, Meh-shah-sepah ! * thus we trace 

Thy message to this newer race ; — ■ 

Though grandly thou swept o'er the sod 

When Silence sat alone with God. 

We have bidden from every condition 
Of man the skilled and the wise, 
At the birth of a noble ambition 
To find where excellence lies : 
And here, united now, we stand, 
To welcome strangers to " our land." 

We gratefully welcome all ye 

Who bring to this " Land of the free " 

Your plants which are useful or rare ; 

Or things that are strange or are fair ; 

The fruits of your cunning and skill, 

The crowns of your patience and will; 

For plants, that from distant lands come. 

May find a more genial home. 

Or gain here some virtues more rare, 

Or grow into beauty more fair; 

Too oft, in this life, has some mind 
Suggested what others must find; 
And web which some weaver has left 
Another must furnish with weft : 



* Meh-shah-sepah. — The true Indian name of the Mississippi 
River, meaning, " the path of gathered waters," not " the 
father of waters." 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH yy 

And many a lesson, we'll learn, 

And brighter will genius burn; 

Far inference limitless is, — 

Aye, wide as Eternity is : — 

And the fetterless mind is free, — 

Free to fathom the great To Be : — 

To fashion and work as it will, — 

To question the doubter's '' Be still ! " 

(Whose quicksands still murmur, " Thus far ! ") 

To leap these, and leave them afar: 

Perfection we cannot attain. 
But nearer each step that we gain 
Shall bring us a triumph at last. 
As the Future melts into the Past : 

Eminence, Chambers Co., Texas, 1884. 



TO WHAT END? 

Longum illud tempus cum non ero magis me movet quam 
hoc exiquiem.* — Cicero. 

Soon this life must all be ended, 

All its joy, its hope, its care; 
Soon will death, uncomprehended, 

Overtake us unaware. 
Hearts and souls so strangely blended 
If each wanders unattended 

Here must sever — who can say. 

Through eternity's long day? 

Why should man drink deep of sorrow, 

If death ends this life began; 
If there looms no fair to-morrow 

To this little, narrow span? 

* " The long time when I shall not exist has more effect upon 
me than this scant [or present] time." 



78 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Creeds which make us anguish borrow 
From the darkness of the grave. 

Only mind and spirit harrow, 
Nor were ever meant to save. 

We regret the sere leaf falling 

Though its death give ripened fruit, 
Swallows to each other calling, 

Soon to leave our eaves so mute. — 
Rare the joy, so unenthralling, 

That we wish it nevermore — 
Can we help the dread, appalling, 

Of the state when all is o'er? 

Why is every effort laden 

With uncertainty and doubt, 
H the soul may find no Aiden 

Where these fiends are shut without? 
While the human lieart is pulsing 

With endeavor's highest aim 
Comes the chilling thought, convulsing — 

Is there aught death may not claim? 

Why this ceaseless, ceaseless burning 

For rich draughts from wisdom's fount. 
If the mind can gain no learning, 

Save the dim lore time can count? 
Why the wild, unanswered yearning 

Fair fruition's fruit to grasp — 
Without fear of soon discerning 

'Tis but ashes in our clasp? 

Yonder sun will soon be setting, — 
Though he grandly sink to-night; — 

Morrow brings him but forgetting 
Be its own not half so bright. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 79 

Vain, my soul, thine anxious fretting. 

Thy dear idols still to hold — 
Let them go, without regretting, 

'Ere thou see them stark and cold. 

E'en this life, so swiftly fleeting, 

Has some moments of delight. 
Which but seem the threshold greeting 

Of existence far more bright. 
Let me not be found retreating 

From a path where duty leads. 
Let me not my soul be cheating 

By the sophistry of creeds. 



IMPROMPTU 

A WORD or look has often broke 

The subtle binding of love's yoke; 

Or like some poisoned seed they bear 

Remorseful fruitage many a year; 

Or leave the heart, like some sunk river, 

A sunless silent thing forever. 

Condemned to throb throughout its tears 

Unheeding heaven's smiles or tears, 

Until at last by slow degrees 

'Tis lost in death's dark ocean's lees. 

Can love res4;rain such word or look ; 
And strong will angry passion brook? 
Or like our genial clime transmute 
The poison to delicious fruit? 
Or turn the river thro' some rent 
Betwixt life's rocks, 'ere it is sent 
Beyond, that it may peacefully 
Find light and warmth eternally? 



8o IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 



AFTER ALL 

I KNOW that we, in Youth's fair morning, 
Will launch our ships in spite of warning. 
We freight them with our hearts' best treasure, 
Ambitions aims, and dreams of pleasure ; — 
And glad-faced Hope, all fair and smiling, 
Sits at the helms, with songs beguiling; — 
While joy-crest billows swell and glisten 
To bear them from us while we listen. 
Each leaves the heart bright promise bearing, — 
Like those proud barks strange oceans daring — 
To seek some land all flower-strewn 
Where tears and griefs are never known. 

And yet I know 'that few have ever 

So ventured but went down forever : — 

For while we watch, our God-speed waving, 

While yet our feet Time's tide is laving, 

The gathering clouds of anguish hover, 

And doubt and disappointment cover 

Our sea and sky, till Life's vast ocean 

Is tossing in such fierce commotion, — 

Our fairest ship, 'mid reefs of sorrow, 

Is wrecked ere dawns Youth's swift to-morrow, — 

Then as the wild waves lash and fret, 

They bear to manhood vain regret. 

Oh, friend ! will wealth, or place, or station, — 

Or, fawning Flattery's adulation, — 

Or Fame her paeans loudly chanting, — 

Console the heart its treasures wanting? 

Say, will its pulses thrill and tremble 

As first they did, if these assemble? 

Or must the sands at last be wasted. 

While gall and wormwood yet are tasted? 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 



And shall we still, like sea-shells, never 
Forget .the songs of youth forever, — 
But moan their echo through decay, 
A requiem of the past alway? 

Perhaps 'tis best our brightest blessing 

Will never linger for caressing. 

But oh ! beyond Life's shade and shimmer, 

Where light and darkness o'er us glimmer. 

Some hope which shall have grown immortal 

Shall wait within the pearly portal, 

To greet the soul in that Hereafter 

To which our tears and prayers shall waft her 

Perhaps some love we thought deep-hidden 

Beneath the wreck of years, unbidden, 

Will spring to meet us bright and fair — 

Unhindered and unchided there. 



THE OUTCAST'S WAIL* 

Pain ! Pain ! Pain ! 
A skeleton cold and stark 

Pain ! Pain ! Pain ! 
Is the future looming dark. 
The spirit stretches its hands in despair, 
For the pain is greater than it can bear. 

Gloom ! Gloom ! Gloom ! 
Aye, darker than wings of night- 
Gloom ! Gloom ! Gloom ! 

* During the war a beautiful young woman, who had been 
the idol of friends and relations, was found dead with her 
new-born babe in a deserted house near the river. There was 
a storm of sleet and rain the previous night, in intervals of 
which she was heard wailing and praying — sometimes for 
vengeance upon her betrayer, for death for herself. 



82 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

With no ray of coming light 
A dismal cloud settles down on my heart, 
Sullen and dark — will it ever depart? 

Dream ! Dream ! Dream ! 
'Twas only a dream, Alas ! 

Dream ! Dream ! Dream ! 
What ne'er shall come to pass: — 
A dream in which hope and joy did entwine 
The future with bliss, that could not be mine. 

Bliss ! Bliss ! Bliss ! 
They tell us of it in rhymes. 

BHss! Bliss! Bliss! 
Perhaps, in the after-times, 
When the weary head in the grave is low, 
And the heart to its mother dust shall go. 

Rest! Rest! Rest! 
Will it ever come again? 

Rest ! Rest ! Rest ! 
For the burdened soul and brain. 
But where can the homeless wanderer rest 
Till the grass grows o'er the death-stilled breast? 

Home ! Home ! Home ! 
Oh, to be homeless and poor! 

Home ! Home ! Home ! 
With memory of home before 
And the mocking thought of what " might have 

been," 
Making the anguish more bitter and keen. 

Life ! Life ! Life ! 
A shadowy thing at best. 

Life! Life! Life! 
A painful time of unrest. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 83 

Its happiest hours are tinctured with pain 
For the thirsting heart and quivering brain. 

Weep ! Weep ! Weep ! 

Till the days grow into years. 
Weep ! Weep ! Weep ! 

Till the eyes can shed no tears, 
And the fountains of grief are drained and dry, 
And nothing is left but to lie down and die. 

Cold ! Cold ! Cold ! 
Are the wind, the sleet, and the night. 

Cold ! Cold ! Cold ! 
May my heart be, ere the light. 
Ere yet all good from my spirit is hurled. 
In its ruthless hate of this heartless world. 

Death ! Death ! Death ! 
How many mortals there be ! 

Death ! Death ! Death ! 
Who earnestly call for thee ! 
Ah ! do pitying angels stay thy hand, 
Till the soul looks up to the Better Land? 



LOVE THY NEIGHBOR 

If we did but prize the flowers 

That along ouir pathway grow; 
Nor would waste so many hours 

Seeking for the thorn below^; 
If we strove to help each other 

Ever upward on the way ; 
Nor would holy feelings smother 

'Neath the ashes of decay; 



84 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

If we did not judge so blindly 

What we do not understand ; 
If our words were spoken kindly — 

Lent we all a friendly hand: 
Would there be so much of sorrow 

Crowded in life's narrow time? 
Would not earth some brightness borrow 

From the glory-lighted clime? 

There are tear-washed, pallid faces 

Peering out upon the night; 
There are many gloomy places, 

To which love would bring the light. 
Shall we leave them wan and weary, 

When a little word or deed 
Might some bosoim make less dreary 

If it kindly come in need? 

Oh ! there is a holy pleasure 

Welling up from fountains pure; 
And iit yields a precious treasure, 

Which we all m.ay, here, secure; — 
'Tis in living for each other, 

Thinking less of self and gain; 
Seeing in each one a brother, 

Whom we find in want and pain. 



BROKEN IDOLS 

Sorrows which may not be spoken, 
Far too deep for tear or token ; 
Cherished idols, crushed and broken. 

Wildly worshiped, tho' of clay; 
Human hearts in silence breaking 
From some fond dream rudely waking ; — 

These are round us every day. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 85 

Silently the spirit's wailing, 
In its deep woe unavailing; 
All its earnest faith is trailing, 

With its idol in the dust. 
And none hears the bitter groaning, 
For the heart breaks without moaning, 

When it mourns a broken trust. 

Oh! must life be ever seeming? 
Is there no joy but in dreaming; 
Nor a rainbow brightly gleaming, 

On the dark clouds of despair? 
Beck'ning to the heart grief-laden, 
From the far-off blessed Aiden, 

Through the privilege of prayer? 
Yes ! Oh, yes ! There is a fountain, — 
There's a never-ceasing fountain, — 
Flowing o'er earth's sin-reared mountain 

From '* Our Father's " great, white throne. 
And hope, like the sunlight glinting 
Through the wintry frost-work flinting, 

Gives luis glimpses of a home, — 

Where no spirit will grow weary. 
Nor in desolation dreary, 
Chant its mournful miserere, — 

For no broken idol's there; 
Where the blessings are eternal, 
And our joy is bliss supernal, 

In that wondrous world so fair. 



THE LOVED AND LOST 

Fitfully the moon is shining 

Over wood and river, — 
And I'm thinking of those dear ones 

Who are gone forever 



86 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Frolm the heart that dearly prized them,- 
Through the gloomy portal 

Which divides this life of changes 
From the bright immortal. 

Sadly to the by-gone moments, 

With my heart grown fonder, 
O'er our griefs and o'er our pleasures, 

I, in memory wander; 
Gathering up the broken fragments 

Of the words then spoken, 
Thinking over looks and gestures, 

Which might love betoken. 

And each word, and look, and gesture 

Bring a sweet assurance 
That they love me, and remember — 

So I gain endurance, 
Strength to bear the painful partings. 

Which are yet before me ; — 
And a resignation holy. 

Hovers gently o'er me. 

But if in this retrospection 

Anger I discover, — 
Then my cup with drops of anguish 

Almost runneth over, 
For those words or deeds unkindly. 

Vain this late contrition, — 
Little thought I they would bear me 

Such a sad fruition. 

Oh ! in future, may my bosom 

Evermore be shielded 
From the thought of angry feeling 

To which I have yielded. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 87 

May the " might have been " so gloomy 

Grieve my spirit never, 
When I think of those who loved me, 
And are gone forever. 



"JUDGE NOT" 

From some aching bosom the wild madden'd cry 
Forever is rising, " Oh, God, let me die ! " 
Man's spirit e'en dares all eternity's woe 
That earth's bitter sorrows it thus may forego. 

Poor world-weary pilgrim, take heart for thy task, 
Nor that it be lessened repiningly ask. 
Tho' darker, still darker the storm-clouds may lower, 
They yet are controlled by a Father's kind power. 

" There remaineth a rest for the people of God " — 
What a com font-fraught promise, for those who have 

trod 
The wine-press of misery unmuirmuringly here, 
Awaiting the blessings in yon brighter sphere. 

But thou, in whose chalice yet mingles no gall, 
Around whom life's blessings doth clustering fall, 
Beware with what judgment thou judgest the wretch 
Whose soul on the torture-rack daily must stretch ! 

Could ye know the sore trials that prompt what they 

do, 
Their deeds might not startle nor horrify you; — 
Perhaps if thy spirit were tortured likewise. 
As desperate, as bitter, might be its low cries. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 



Let the mantle of charity tenderly fall 

Over erring ones here, for so sinful are all 

We may not pass by with, " I'm holier than thou," 

Lest the mark of a Cain shall be set on our brow. 

Oh ! many there be whose life shows no stain, 
That shall knock at the portals of heaven in vain ; 
While the pitiful beggar they spurn from their door, 
Shall sweetly and peacefully rest evermore. 

There is ever a beam in the hypocrite's eye, 
Tho' the motes in his brother's so quick to descry. 
Oh ! take heed lest our God, in the day of His wrath, 
Shall take from that servant e'en that which he hath. 



Why judge ye, earth's weary ones, and deem your- 
selves pure, 
Who are life's sadder trials not called to endure? 
Know ye not thajt the gold which the fire doth refine, 
The purer is proven and the brighter shall shine? 



USQUE QUO DOMINE 

Oh, God ! my aching heart would respite borrow 
From its long weary woe of creeping years. 
Oh, let me hope that on some bright to-morrow 
I yet shall know some recompense for tears ! 

If I have erred, Thy mercy's quick discerning 
The good and ill as they within me strove — 
Like Noah's dove, when to the Ark returning, 
My spirit seeks again Thy sheltering love. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 89 

I ask not, Father, for the careless feeling 
A little child can know on earth alone ; 
Nor would I memory'si pages yet be sealing ; 
Nor count as vain the flight of years agone : — 

I would their teachings, on this poor heart falling 
Like cooling rain upon the parched earth, 
Should soothe its pain, until I hear Thee calling 
My soul back to the home of its glad birth. 

How long ! how long ! My God ! must I be waiting 

While bathing with my tears Thy holy feet? 

To hear Thy voice, my spirit reinstating 

In Thy dear love, with blessedness complete? 

How long ! My God ! before these hands are folded 
In peaceful rest beneaith the coffin lid? 
When in immortal guise, my soul remoulded, 
Shall know Thy love, behind life's trials hid. 

Oh, help me wait in patience for the ending ! 
For Faith, so oft, sinks fainting by the way — 
And let Thy peace, upon my heart descending, 
Give me new strength and hope each passing day. 



INDIAN SUMMER 

The forest gorgeously is robed these sweet Novem- 
ber days. 

And over all the woodland now there rests a mellow 
haze; 

A kind of dreamy mournfulness, as if the fading 
year 

Was gathering all its richest gems to decorate its 
bier. 



90 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

The joyousness of Spring is passed, with all its lovely 

flowers, 
Its merry birds, its laughing winds, its pleasure 

freighted hours ; 
The Summer with its full blown joys, the harvest 

time is gone ; — 
And soon the year will pass away, its mission here 

be done. 



The leaves are falling one by one, as suire and 

silently 
As hopes fall from a gentle heart when broken 

wantonly, 
And in their glorious loveliness they flutster down to 

earth, 
Their record there to write in dust, with weeds of 

humbler birth. 



The winds that sang their angelus amid these very 
leaves. 

While Summer linger'd with us, no requiem o'er 
them breathes, — 

They've wandered off to other climes, where spring- 
time yet may dwell. 

To glance amid the orange-groves or ocean-music 
swell. 



The trees will soon be stripp'd of all; their limbs, so 
gaunt and bare, 

Like arms upraised imploringly, of giants in de- 
spair, — 

Will mock us, in their nakedness, for all their sum- 
mer bloom, — 

And therefore comes their mournfulness before the 
winter's gloom. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 91 

Methinks 'twere not so hard to die, if we could pass 

like these, 
From life to death, in loveliness, as fade the autumn 

leaves; 
Without a folly to regret, without the shuddering 

fear, 
That we have idly cast aside our destined mission 

here. 

IMPROMPTU 

I WOULD not that thy heart should swell 
With one impassioned thought of me. 

If in that memory could dwell 

Aught which would bring a pang to thee. 

But I would come when happiness 

In peaceful dreams holds sweet corutrol, 

And wake thy deepest tenderness 
In spirit-union with thy soul. 



THE OLD YEAR'S RECORD 

The Old Year's full record is written. 

And the angel Gabriel stands 
Before the White Throne ; and, grief-smitten, 

He opens the scroll in his hands. 
The spirits of just men around him 

Are waiting the record to hear. 
For some, to whom life's ties had bound them, 

Have part 'mid the scenes of this year. 

The King, his great seal yet witholding, 
Is grieved fpr the wickedness here; 

He pities mankind, while beholding 
The works set against him this year. 



92 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

He listens, to hear if ascending 

Are prayers, in contrition's low tone, 

And seeks to find some who are bending 
The knee to the true God alone. 

The angel of mercy, adoring, 

Has flown to the foot of the Throne, 
And pointing to mortals, imploring, 

That God will but seal them His own. 
She joins their petition to cancel 

The sins of the swift-passing year — 
And sweet as the incense from chancel 

And church is that prayer to God's ear. 

B'Uit only a few are thus praying, 

For sin hath wild riot to-night, 
Will God, His just anger, be staying 

For sake of those few in the right? 
The swift winged moments are flying. 

And bearing the Old Year away; 
It soon in the Past will be lying. 

Its record sealed for the Great Day. 

The midnight's deep chimes are slow-tolling, 

The knell of the vanishing year; 
The angel the record is rolling. 

And drops on its pages a tear. 
But Jesus cries, " Hear me, my Father ! 

I wash this dark scroll in my JDlood. 
I take from it only, my Father, 

The wicked, and leave there the good. 

" For those, in my own Name, now pleading 
I pray Thee, I know, not in vain; 
But pity the careless, unheeding, 

And bless them, and free them from stain. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 93 

They know not, Oh, Father ! their danger, 

'Mid folly, and passion, and strife ; 
Consume them not yet, in Thine anger, 

But give them one year more of life," 

Now rapture, and praises, and blessing, 

And angel's loud chorusing song: — 
God's mercy and goodness expressing, — 

Are rising from heaven's bright throng. 
Let earth join the anthems of gladness, 

And humbly begin the New Year, 
And there shall be little of sadness 

For those who will live in God's fear. 



BURIAL ON AN INDIAN MOUND 

Room, warriors, room ! 

Room for the pale- face child! 

In your mausoleum. 

Room for the undefiled. 
Ages undisturbed you've slept. 
And from man your memory's swept. 
Those who o'er you may have wept, 
And your " death-fires " lighted kept,* 

Long, long years agone have found 
In their happy hunting ground 
Mysteries of the Spirit-Land 
Mortals ne'er can understand. 



* It was the custom of some of the Indian tribes who for- 
merly inhabited Louisiana to keep a fire burning for three 
days and nights upon the graves of their dead, lest the spirits 
should lose their way before reaching the " Happy Hunting 
Ground." 



94 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH f 



Ah, warriors brave ! 
Far distant is the year 
Since in this wild-wood grave 
Your fortus were gathered here. 
Were you battling for your right 
With the Pale-face in his might? 
Or with fratricidal hand 
Did the Red Men slay your band ? 
None can tell us. There remains 
Only what this mound contains ; — 
And conjecture seeks in vain 
Something of your lives to gain. 

Room, warriors, roorn ! 

Only a little space. 

'Mid your silent gloom 

We would our dead one place, 
Quick and fast is sunk the spade, 
Soon the hollow grave is made; 
Round the damp sides here and there 
Whitened skulls are gleaming bare, 
Which my frame and heart doth fill 
With a shuidder strange and chill. 
Once these were the homes of thought, 
With revenge or mercy fraught ; — 
Mayhap war schemes brave and bold 
Formed where now is damp earth-mold. 

" Dust and ashes " all, — 
The universal doom ; 
Whether velvet pall 
Or war-paint deck the tomb. 

Ye, as dreamless sleeping here. 

Rest, as if on gilded bier. 

Wherefore should encoffined be 

Limbs that were in life so free? 



I 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 95 

Wherefore should a shroud enfold 
Forms of those who were so bold? — 
Do we mourn our loved ones more 
Decked with richest trappings o'er ? 

We have come to-day, 

Without a wish to wrong — 

We have come to lay 

Our babe your " braves " among. 
Let your manes' wrath be done, 
And receive our little one. 
There, we've laid him down to rest. 
Spade the earth in gently, lest 
In the damp mold there should be 
Traces of humanity. 
So, will sacred be the mound 
Where this little grave is found. 



A FANCY 

A BRIGHT mantle of crimson and gold 

And purple hung low in the west; 
It was waiting the day to enfold 

That soon would be sinking to rest. 
The sun was still lingering awhile 

In love with both woodland and sea, 
While the earth blushing warm in his smile 

Seemed fairer than ever to be. 

And a rose-tree in beauty and blooim 
Its blossoms had lavishly spread — 

They were shedding their sweetest perfume 
And wealth o'er a maiden's fair head; — 

While just touching her innocent face 

Half-opened some bright buds reclined,- 

Did they droop, that their loveliest grace, 
Was gathered from that they entwined? 



96 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Like a. Parsean priestess at prayer, 

She watched the light fade in the skies ; 
And the glow of idolatry there 

Shone bright in her beautiful eyes. 
" He will come," she was murmuring low, 

" Though shadows grow gloomy and tall. 
He is true as the sunlight, I know; 

He will come. He will come, after all." 

But the night brought her quivering fears ; 

And doubt, with its dagger-like smart, 
Like a shadow fell over her years 

And crushed out the faith in her heart. 
Then she knew her idolatrous trust 

Had passed with the evening's light. 
That it evermore moldering must 

Lay shrouded in darkness of nig'ht. 

Then the morning saw roses in tears. 

That yesterday blossomed so bright; 
And as Time flings to mortals its years 

The roses .still weep in the night 
For the remnant of Paradise gone. 

Which passed with the loss of man's truth,- 
And the doubt and the agony born. 

From death to the hope of our youth. 



SILENCE 

When the heart in deep devotion 

Has been filled with sweet emotion, 

Then has suddenly been broken, — 

No tear forth-gushing gives the token ; 

Nor murmuring voice, nor sorrowing word. 

Nor tale of sadness can be told. 

The hidden mystery to unfold. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 97 

But with the hands crossed o'er the breast. 
The bloodless lips together pressed — 
One listens to the beating heart 
Which at its own wild throbs doth start: — 
Scarce dares to breathe, for fear the breath 
Should stay the welcome dart of death. 
With eyes imploring, looks to heaven, 
And asks that aid and strength be given. 



Oh ! this is agony indeed, 

And often causes hearts to bleed, — 

Hearts that with sympathy can glow 

And share another spirit's woe. 

And what is Silence — then so well 

This agony of soul can tell. 

Which speaks without a voice — and yet, 

That silent voice none can forget. 



A CARTOON 

Out on the wide sea are sometimes floating 
pieces of driftwood; perhaps the motion of the 
restless waves brings them near to each other. 
They touch, then are separated by the waters; the 
distance between them widens, until they are washed 
ashore in far different climes. 

So with human beings. We meet and greet each 
other — then sever- eternally. Yet the impress of 
spirit may linger forever. And a prayer for hap- 
piness rise from each heart for the other, that shall 
bear sweet influences like summer Southern breezes 
over the broad ocean of Life. 



98 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 



A MOTHER'S WISH 

Come tune, my muse, thy sweetest lyre. 

And let its richest music swell ; 
Within me, like Promethean fire. 

Are burning thoughts I cannot quell. 
For I would rend the misty veil 

That shrouds my children's future path. 
Although perhaps my cheeks would pale 

At visions which that vista hath. 

Two gentle girls — whose childish brow, 

Unwrinkled, fair, and innocent, 
I fain would keep as smooth as now, 

If wishes were not impotent, — 
I would that I their fragile bark 

Might steer from all life's dangerous shoals. 
Whereon, when hope's light groweth dark, 

Are wrecked so many human souls. 

I cannot bear to think there lies 

Deep fountains of misfortune's tears 
Within my darlings' sweet blue eyes, — 

To be unsealed in future years 
O'er wasted hopes, and pain to see 

Their heart's rich treasures cast away. 
And love's bright glow a mockery, — 

Like glistening sea-weed wet with spray. 

Oh ! would my eyes might shed their tears. 

And would my heart their griefs might bear ! 
I'd shield them through their future years 

From every woe ; from every care. 
My gentle Zella's soft brown hair 

Should never grow less dark than now ; 
And darling Lillie's curls so fair 

Should never silver o'er her brow. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 99 

It may not be. However kind 

Our yearning hearts, God gives to each 
A different fate, nor can we find 

A way through other lives to reach, — 
We can but pray hope's beacon Hght 

Shall never o'er life's seas grow dim, 
And strive to guide our own course right — 

Then trust the rest in faith to Him. 



TAKEN AWAY 

Lay the little body down, 

Close those sweet blue eyes ; — 
They will open, darling one, 
Where there waits a golden crown 
For thee, in the skies. 

Close those lips. Lingering there. 

See, a smile is, yet ! 
Gently smooth the shining hair 
From the forehead, pale and fair, 

Where Death's seal is set. 

Wast thou not afraid to die. 

Wandering alone 
To the vast Eternity, 
And the dread Reality, 

Of a world unknown? 

Or did angels guide thy feet 

Through Death's fearful strait. 
That no terrors thou shouldst meet 
Till our Saviour thou shouldst greet 
At the heavenly gate? 



100 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Thou hast gone; and we are taught 

Thy pure infant soul 
Not a stain of earth had caught, 
Tho' life is, with sin, so fraught, — 

Thou hast won the goal. 

Such as thou the Kingdom is 

Of the world above, 
Christ hath said, and now thou'rt His, 
Taken from earth's miseries. 

Shall we doubt His love? 

Better so, aye, better so ! 

All our weeping's vain 
Human life is full of woe — 
Better to our God to go. 

Safe from every pain. 

Selfish still, our hearts are sore, 

Mourning for thy loss ; 
'Tis so hard to think no more 
Thou'lt be with us, as before ; — 

Hard to bear our cross. 

We miuist yield, for thou art gone 

" To that distant bourne, 
Wihence no traveler can come." 
Oh, may we, in that bright home, 

Clasp thee for our own ! 



GOD'S MESSENGER 

From heaven there came unto me 
A messenger one summer day. 
Our Father, who sent her to me, 
Had made her as fair as could be, 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH loi 

And said, " I but lend her to thee, 
I lend her, to take her away." 

My husband looked on us and smiled, 

As close in my bosom she lay. 
And said, " I thank God for this child, 
This beautiful, fair little child." 
Then thro' me there rushed a thought, wild, 

That she must soon leave us for aye, 

I don't know what made me think so, — 

But oft, amid anguish and pain. 
Comes a spirit of prophecy — so 
I think angels made me to know. 
And warned me, our darling would go 

Unsullied to them again. 

She lingered a day — only one. 
And Memory rings in my ears, — 
The wail of that dear little one 
We hid from the flowers and sun 
And tried to say, " Thy Will be done," 
'Mid passionate, grief-laden tears. 

I had been so wicked, I know 

This dear little baby came here 

As pure as the white, driven snow, 

To tear with deep sorrow and woe 

This heart, and in dust to lay low 

My spirit, with trembling and fear. 

'Tis said, when a little child dies 
A golden cord rests in its hand; 

And with this straight up to the skies 

It flies, and it forms, as it flies, 

A passway on which we may rise, 
At last, to the Heavenly Land. 



102 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 



IN MEMORIAM * 

The sunrise was bright far over the earth, 
The church-bells rang their sweetest chime, 

All nature put on her mantle of mirth, 
Which she wore in the olden time. 

The wild birds whistled their merriest song 

In the dark magnolia trees, 
And gladness itself seemed floating along 

On every passing breeze. 

The river in grandeur proudly roll'd on 

To the chanting of mimic waves ; 
Nor whisper of mortals was uipward borne, 

Who found in its depths only graves. 

The children's glad hearts were like the young rose, 

Or ever its petals are blown ; 
They knew not, nor dreamed, a terrible close 

Could follow so happy a morn. 

One beautiful boy ran close to the stream, 

With joy in his step and his face — 
When lo ! the waters send back a wild scream — 

Then suddenly close o'er the place. 

The treacherous bank had crumbled away 

And carried that fair boy down — 
Oh ! the lightest spirit was saddened that day. 

And trembled with fear in that town. 

* " Little Robbie Swearingen," who was drowned in the Missis- 
sippi River at Grand Gulf, Miss., by the caving of the bank, 
May 31, 1856. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 103 

They searched the deep river for many a day, 

And thro' many a weary night; 
But waves enshrouded that beautiful clay 

And hid it forever from sig'ht. 

Long years have awakened, and faded and died, 
Since that child sank under the wave — 

The river rolls on, in its grandeur and pride, 
As when it first made him a grave. 

But mothers clasp clo^e their little ones yet 

With a trembling awe in the heart, 
While tears of sympathy, tears of regret. 

In their eyes unbidden will start. 

Whenever they tell the story of him 

So suddenly taken away — 
Gone down where the river his requiem 

Eternally chants on its way. 

Ah ! merry the hearts its broad bosom bears 

Unmindful of those in death's sleep, 
Who once were the center of hopes and of fears, — 

But oh ! they rest well in the deep. 

Tho' loving ones here can never know where 

His little form lies in the sand, 
When God shall make up His bright jewels, there 

Dear Robbie among them will stand. 



AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR 

Now brace your hearts ! " — thus the low words 
came 

From lips of a beardless boy. 
You are not playing an idle game, 

Nor is that gun but a toy. 



104 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

" Don't speak a word, for a little lack 
Of talk may do lus some good. 
You know a shot in a soldier's back 
Sometimes is not understood. 

" Perhaps behind us a riding scout 
Is seeking a place to camp. 
They'll soon be posting their pickets out, — 
I think I can hear their tramp. 

" You are but ten, and tho' I'm sixteen, 
I've fever from sole to crown : — 
But what of that, if we can stand between 
This raid and the sleeping town ! 

" Only two boys ! Oh, for fifty men ! 
Just fifty, with us to-night; 
We'd show these impudent raiders, then, 
A braver and bolder fight. 

" What if we die ere the wane of night ; — 
The Father, with sleepless eye, 
Will not forget, in the realms of light. 
We dared for the South to — die. 



" Who is that, John ? A Yankee ? Well, 
For him I will do my best." 
A sharp report, and the picket fell, 
A rifle ball in his breast. 



" You shot too quick ! But load up your gitn, 
For others will soon be here, — 
There, they are ! I'll take the foremost one, 
You aim at him in the rear." 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 105 

These whispered words were but scarcely spoke 

"Ere missiles of death were sped 
From boyish hands, with a telling stroke — 
And the raiders turned and fled. 

The wounded man, by the rotten log, — 
Their comrade shot at his post, — 

They left to die, like a useless dog, 
And forgot their evening's boast: — 

The boast to " burn up the village there, 

To leave not a brick unturned." 
They laughed, while thinking of our despair 

At seeing: our homesteads buirned. 



'& 



The morning came, and save here and there 

A knapsack or sword-belt lay. 
We had not known where the raiders were. 

Or whither they took their way. 

A woman's wit and those stripling boys 
Their boasted purpose had marred: 

She made them think, when they heard the noise 
Of firing, 'twas " Forest's guard." 

"What boots it now?" has somebody said, 
" They conquered our land at last ; 
Our brilliant hopes, and fond visions dead — 
Are buried with the past: 

" What is it now, what our women did, 
Or boys who forgot their mimes ? " 
Ah ! something bright for the South lies hid, 
Perhaps — in the future times. 



io6 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

DEATH IN PRISON 

How often do we murmur, when called to yield we 

are 
The loving and beloved, when 'round them every 

care; 
But with utter wretchedness we hear of those who 

die 
'Mid enemies, in prison, with only strangers by. 



Ah ! who marked ithe captive's tear when silently it 

fell! 
Or who can tell his longing, within his prisop cell. 
For a free man's step once more the broad, green 

earth upon, 
Ere life's unanswered yearnings and time for him 

were done. 



Three years have almost passed since the dreary 

month of May 
In which my darling brother, in prison, dying lay; 
And still, when springt:me comes again, with its 

balmy breath. 
Mournfully doth thought brood o'er that sad, sad 

scene of death. 



Fearfully the fever raged like lava through each 

vein, 
And those about him knew he would soon be out of 

pain; 
But they little heeded it, so callous had they grown — 
Oh, God ! that human hearts should become as 

hard as stone ! 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 107 

I would I had been with him, 'twould be such com- 
fort now, 

For I have often soothed him when fever burned 
his brow, — 

If I could not have won him to life and health, I 
know 

I might have cheered some moments of bitterness 
and woe, 

Soimetimes in delirium his senses seemed to reel. 
And he forgot the dreadful war, forgot its piercing 

steel, — 
Until some sudden movement with agony would 

thrill 
And wake his mind to reason, without his power or 

will. 

At length there came a time when he was himself 

again. 
And memory was busy within his throbbing brain; — 
Memory was busy, bringing up before his eyes 
Visions of his distant home beneath the Southern 

skies. 

The thought that its dear inmates, his darling wife 

and child, 
He might never clasp again had almost made him 

wild; — 
He could not even leave them a farewell message 

there, — 
For oh ! he was in prison — who would the message 

bear? 

He thought upon his brother. His eyes were filled 

with tears 
At mem'ry of their boyhood, those happy, careless 

years : 



io8 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

He knew that brother then was uipon some tented 

field — 
And he prayed that God's right arm would be to 

him a shield; 

Then as he thought of me he could scarce his sor- 
row quell — 

I was his only sister, and ever loved him well; 

And then my little children to him so very dear — 

Oh ! 'twas ihard indeed to die, when none of us 
were near. 

His pain seem'd almost gone when hope whispered 
to his heart 

That some of us might come, ere his spirit should 
depart ; 

He listened for our footsteps, and watched the open- 
ing door, 

And fancied he heard us upon the outer floor. 

" Listen," he said, " that's my wife: I think I heard 

her speak. 
Go bring her hither quickly, I'm growing faint and 

weak. 
I'm sure I heard my sister, now I shall soon be well ; 
To charm away this fever their presence brings a 

spell." 

Oh ! with what bitter anguish he learned we were 

not there. 
It seems his heart was breaking so great was his 

despair. 
He murmured o'er our names, then he sadly laid 

him down. 
So pale, so still he was, as if life itself had flown. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 109 

And e'en his enemies, as they looked upon his form, 
With pity felt their hearts to the " Rebel soldier " 

warm ; 
That one so young, so noble, should pale and dying 

lay, 
. When those he loved so deeply were all so far 

away: 

He breathed a fervent prayer unto the Throne of 

Grace, 
And those who saw him then marked the light upon 

his face, — 
A light so calm, so holy, that one there held her 

breath. 
As she gazed upon what was so like a peaceful 

death. 

There were tears within her eyes,_ — God bless that 

gentle one, 
Who thus could feel for him, dying far away from 

home. 
He was a Southern soldier, she lingered by his side. 
And softly closed his eyes when my captive brother 

died: 

They tell us angels hover o'er every dying bed — 

My brother had been praying, and he was com- 
forted. 

It may be that our mother came unto that stricken 
one, 

A messenger from heaven, bearing peace unto her 
son. 

Perhaps she led his spirit to yonder world on high. 
Where there are no more prisons, and where they 
do not die. 



no IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

I feel, indeed, my brother those pearly gates went 

in, 
For faith in Jesus teaches his soul was washed 

from sin. 

There are some soldier's graves in Nashville's burial 

grounds. 
They tell me he is resting within one of those 

mounds. 
They may with idle jesting have laid him 'neath the 

sod, 
But they could not harm him then — his spirit was 

with God: 

A holocaust to Freedom how many lives became 
Like his, and nations honor our Southern soldier's 

name. 
They have not died in vain, tho' no monument may 

tell 
Of how they died, in prison, or how in battle fell. 

March i8, 1866. 



A PRAYER FOR THE SOUTH 

Lo ! upon our Southern land 
Heavy rests Thy chastening hand. 
Every heart is bowed with woe 
At the coming of our foe. 
Prone upon the dust we lie : — 
Father, dost Thou hear our cry? 

Streams of patriotic blood 

Have been poured forth, like a flood; 

And the bones of noble slain 

Whiten every battle plain ; — 

Shall the sacrifice be vain ? — 

Father, hear our cry of pain I 



mrm 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH iii 

List the orphans' piteous moan, 
Fathers', mothers', bitter groan; 
Hark the widows' anguished wail; 
Sisters see with sorrow pale : — 
" Rachel weeping for her dead," 
Nor will she be comforted. 

Rests a shadow o'er the earth ; — 
Rests a gloom 'round every hearth ; — 
Must we give them up for naught — 
They who have so bravely fought, 
Yielding life itself that we 
Should possess our liberty? 

Oh ! with anguish hearts are torn, 
And in agony we mourn. 
Broken hearts to Thee we bring, — 
Wilt Thou take the offering? 
" Bruised reed Thou wilt not break," 
Wilt Thou, then, our land forsake? 

Thou dost make man's wrath to praise 
Thee; and oft his curse doth rise 
To a blessing; grant that thus 
It shall be so now with us. 
Oft mysterious is Thy way — 
Father, pity us we pray ! 

If we had but trusted Thee, 
We should now be happy, free. 
All our sin, in humbleness. 
Unto Thee we do confess. 
Look upon our miseries. 
Save us from our enemies. 

All our deep and guilty pride, — 
See, we now have cast aside. 



112 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Oh ! we trusted not in Thee 
For the boon of liberty. — 
Hear us in our deep distress, 
Take from uis this bitterness. 

Take away this Northern band 
Which now curses our dear land. 
Thou dost know their wish of hate 
Still our homes to desolate. 
Father, unto Thee we kneel, — 
Wilt Thou not our sorrow feel ? 

Sparrows falling to the ground 
Have Thy care thrown them around. 
More than many sparrows we, — 
Let our prayers prevail with Thee. 
Thou hast made our land so fair, 
Grant Thy blessing and Thy care : 

One more heart-felt entreaty 
We yet bring most earnestly, — 
For him who from Monroe's walls 
Daily on Thy great Name calls ; — 
Free him from that prison drear. 
Bless him more each coming year. 

Well we know Thou dost chastise 
Those whom Thou dost least despise; 
And Thy blessing oft doth pour 
Rich and deep in darkest hour. 
Father, be a friend indeed 
To our Davis in his need ! 

Thou hast said if we would come 
In the Name of Thy dear Son, 
We should never come in vain. 
And Thy mercy we should gain. 



i865. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 113 

Thus before Thy Throne we bow, — 
Father, wilt Thou hear us now? 

But whatever be Thy will, 
Give us strength to bear it still ; 
Give us faith to turn to Thee 
In our joy, and misery: — 
Then, at last with open hand 
Thou wilt bless " Our Sunny Land." 



CRUMBS 



The lesson which once has been learned 

Is never so hard to repeat; 
And the lane which once has been turned 

Is never so rough to the feet. 

Tho' over and over again 

We're learning the lesson of life, 

There's something we long for, in vain, 
'Mid folly, and tumult, and strife. 

Biuit why are we never content, 
If faith in our bosoms we keep? 

Though false with the true may be blent, 
'Tis better to smile than to weep. 

Each day we may gather some bliss, 

Which close to our hearts wp may bind; 

To make us courageous in this — 
While waiting the next life to find. 

Each day has its shadow and shine, 
Tho' mingled with tempest and rain ; 

Each evening must surely decline, 
The night with its rest come again. 



114 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Each footstep we make in the snow 
Is weary, and chilling, my dear; 

But nearer, the valley below 
Is smiling, our spirits to cheer. 

And under the snow 'neath our feet 
May dormant lie some little seed, 

To spring up all lovely and sweet, 
Because of a step it hath need. 

There's many a gladness we lose. 

Which love to our clasping has led — 

Because we reach farther and choose 
To grasp at a shadow instead. 

Then do not be gloomy, nor sad. 
Whatever our lives have in store; 

We cannot unmix good and bad 
Till rested upon the bright shore. 

I know there are times when the heart 
Is yearning for something above, 

All joy which on earth hath a part. 
All peace which is gathered from love. 

I know 'tis but symbol and sign 
Of what we shall hereafter be — 

My spirit but asks the Divine 

One boon : — To be folded with thee. 

Then do not be gloomy, nor sad. 
But let us walk steadily, friend; 

And look up, our bosoms made glad. 
With cheerfulness unto the end. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 115 



SHADOWS 

For the struggle will soon be over. — Dr. Talmage. 

''Tis pitiful, sometimes, truly, 

Tho' hearts be patient and strong. 

To know them breaking surely, 
Beneath a burden of wrong. 



'Tis pitiful, destiny leads where 
The good, the loving, the best. 

Must grapple with terrible needs, there — 
Which leave few moments for rest. 



I question with fate, and wonder 
If somewhere, after this life. 

The soul grown purer and fonder 
Ehall be more blest for the strife ? 



If pathways pressed by the weary 
Will gleam with verdure and bloom? 

And hopes from a sad miserere 
Will spring to drive away gloom? 



For bright is the day whose gloaming 
Beams fair with forthcoming light. 

Swift rolling the waves whose foaming 
Cast sparkles of fire at night. 



The struggle will soon be over," — 
With toil, and sorrow and pain; 

The weary shall rest forever, 
The spirit be free again. 



ii6 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 



BEND LOW, O GOD ! 

'* The medical profession knows no remedy for it; at least, I 
know none." — Dr. Chappin, during the prevalence of yellow 
fever in 1878. 

0_ God ! upon our South bend low 
And from Thy mercy seat let flow 
The words of healing, ere the scourge 
Sweep all before its onward surge. 



Bend low, bend pitying low, our God ! 
Have we not sorrow's wine-press trod? 
Why should we thus so vainly cry, — 
Forsaken ; — in such agony ? 

The Fever fiend is still abroad, 
Still gathering victims horde on horde: — 
To Thee at last, Great God, we bow, 
And wail our miserere now. 

Lo ! men gaze in each other's face. 
In quailing dread of fever trace; 
And turning, fly. Some, mad with fear, 
Forgetting even ties most dear. 

Some gaze with bated breath — then stay 
To do whatever good they may: — 
But oh ! when these must sink and die 
Faith's paralyzed : — Nor dares to cry. 

All other hope save Thee is past. 
Oh, wilt Thou fail us, at the last? 
Bend low to us, and hear our prayer — 
Our stricken South some anguish spare. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 117 

Hast Thou no mercy for the woe, 
From scourge and death, cast to and fro? 
Has Thy strong arm grown short and weak? 
Com.e, Father-God, Thy heahng speak. 



MINOR CHORDS 

IVe said some bitter things, my child, some bitter 

things ; and now 
Fd take some of them back, at least, if only I knew 

how. 
But words in anger spoke are gone forever from 

our will. 
And have their influence, perhaps, when we are 

cold and still. 



I had good reason too, I think, to hate the Northern 

name, 
And small to " love this neighbor " boy, until the 

Fever came ; 
And even when I knelt in prayer unto the God of 

Heaven, 
I could not say, " Forgive me. Lord," for I had not 

" forgiven." 



But when this desolation spread like wild-fire 'mid 

the grass, 
They were not slow to help us, so — let all our 

hatred pass. 
They came with open hearts and hands, like brothers 

to their own. 
And every gentle sympathy to us have surely shown. 



ii8 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

'Tis true, our best and bravest men were slain in 

battle, dear. 
And thro' the land went woe and death, drove on by 

rage and fear ; 
But wildest passions then were roused, and hid 

calm reason's light — 
Oh, saddest " honor " ever gained, is won when 

brothers fight ! 

We both were wrong. And now the years have 

brought the hour at last, 
When we^ can think with stiller hearts, and say let 

strife be past; 
It is no little thing with us, to turn with steady 

hand, 
Intent to fill the yawning gulf 'twixt North and 

Southern land. 

But in our need they have been kind, and so we 

fain would hope 
Our gratitude can fill that gulf — so well 'twill 

never ope; 
Methinks that time may bring the power for much 

to be undone, 
Of wrong, by both; 'twill surely be a greater vict'ry 

won. 

Child, I would have yon now forget some lessons I 
have taught, 

And cast forever from thy soul the cherished venge- 
ful thought; 

Then if fond prayer a blessing gain for kindly word 
and deed. 

May Southern hearts for Northern friends with 
sure acceptance plead. 

December 13, 1878. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 119 



A STRANGER'S REQUEST 

Joy sometimes makes the human heart 

A selfish, worthless thing; 
Tho' all must feel affliction's smart, 

And pleasures will take wing; 
Yet in thy bosom seems to glow 

That jewel rich and rare, — 
A feeling for another's woe, 

A wish to lessen care. 

Thy sympathy will fall like balm, 

Oft on some wounded breast; 
Thy kindly words awhile will calm 

Some painful throes to rest; 
For often will a little word 

Bring an unbidden tear; — 
It is the fountain angel stirr'd, 

To heal our grieving here. 

Thou askest for a gush of song — 

Oh, would that it might tell 
The earnest feelings pent up long 

That in my bosom swell ! 
Like fabled mermaid's Loralie 

From o'er some moon-lit main. 
The strains would rise so thrillingly 

Thou wouldst not ask again. 

A wounded bird will only sing 

A plaintive, wailing trill; 
Thou canst not, to its carol bring, 

The happy notes at will. 
Thou askest that I sweep to-day 

The chords of joy alone; 
But do not chide me if my lay 

Should breathe a saddened tone. 



120 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

'Tis well, when friends around us come, 

Our own griefs to disguise; 
To cast no shadow over one 

Whose friendship we would prize; 
To still the surging sea of pain 

That o'er our spirit sweeps, 
And force the rising tears again 

Back to their welling deeps. 

But there are sorrows of the soul 

We cannot always bow, — 
And anguish leaves a written scroll, 

Upon the fairest brow : — 
A bitter, hollow mockery 

A careless lay would be ; — 
Then let me have thy sympathy, 

I cannot sing for thee: 

Oh, do not ask me ! for my heart 

Has felt misfortune's sting, 
Which o'er each chord, in spite of art, 

A mournfulness would fling. 
Like memory of vanished dreams. 

Whose brightness passed with them,— 
So plaintive and so sad, it seems 

A sobbing requiem. 



REQUIEM 

Where the Eastern skies are glowing 
Where historic streams are flowing, 

Bayard Taylor dies. 
Far beyond the waters going 
Quickly for a nation's knowing 
Flashes this sad news, tho' sowing 

Sorrow as it flies. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 121 

Toll the solemn, funeral bell, 
Cypress twine with immortelle, 

For our fallen bard. 
Let the saddest requiem swell 
In gentlest, sweetest strains to tell 
The hearts that loved him — oh, so well ! 

He is dead. 'Tis hard. 

Mourn not we with common sorrow, 
Nor from custom anguish borrow 

For the nation's loss ; — 
When for other lives to-morrow 
Beameth, is not added yarrow 
To the cup, to know the narrow 

Grave mocks heaviest cross? 

Had his years been full and olden, 

Like the wheat-sheaves, ripe and golden, 

Reaped in harvest time; 
We might feel our hearts embolden, 
While with tender memories holden. 
Then to know him shroud-enfolden, 

After manhood's prime. 

But his pulses beat so quickly, 

While the fresh bays strewed so thickly 

Every step, by every breath. 
Hope's fair halo gleamed before him. 
Fame's day-star shone brightly o'er him, — 
Why has Fate untimely bore him 

To the clasp of Death? 

Late our hearts were thrilling softly 
With his epicediulm lofty 
Chanting Bryant's knell. 
Now we sit with spirits sadder 
At the foot of Life's dim ladder, 



122 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Whence his soul has mounted, gladder, 
To yon heaven so well. 

Would we had his muses' power, 

O'er his name sweet notes to shower : — 

Some fond tribute then. 
With tender passion rich and strong. 
Would wed his memory to song, 
Where votive offerings belong — 

'Mid holiest thoughts of men. 

APPLES OF SODOM 

The dewdrops glisten on the grass, 
The length'ing shadows darker fall, 

And I must through the gateway pass 
Where soon will be forgotten all. 

Stay yet awhile, oh, setting sun ! 

Thy splendor tempts me still to bask 
In foolish dreams, while scarce begun 

Before me lies life's meted task. 

Stay yet awhile. The golden edge 
Of dreams has lost its brightest ray — 

I will not linger where the hedge 
Of disappointment bars my way. 

My soul is weary, and would rest. 
E'en while it from oblivion shrink; 

But who can tell me what is best? 
What shield me, from the unknown brink. 

Men chase some " will-o' wisp" to grasp 
With eager hand, the frenzied eye 

Doth see it wither in their clasp, 
Or like a phantom fade and fly. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 123 

I've seen triumphant sons of fame 

All listless 'neath their laurel wreath; 

I've seen the hero's glance grow tame, 
And idle swords in rusted sheath ; 

I've known ennobling hopes of race 

Unheeded sink in grim despair; 
And manhood's prime and woman's grace 

Pass like a breath of Summer air; 

I've seen men drink of pleasure's cup. 

To taste its bitter lees at last; 
And folly's pebbles gather up 

While wisdom's treasures glided past; 

I've walked with Charity and thought — 
By happy hearts we shall be blest : — 

But I have found how vainly sought 
Is gratitude in human breast. 

Is there no place within this life 

Where Faith may fold her wings to rest? 

Or must the boundless sea of strife 
Forever beat against her breast? 

Ah ! 'neath the sunset's golden glow, 
Within me purer thought up-springs, 

Like those sweet lily-buds of snow 
Whose perfume to the twilight flings. 

'Tis duty without recompense, — 

If well performed — will soothe the heart; 
Of rectitude the conscious sense 

Must ever be " the better part." 



124 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

The will to walk the path which lies 
To right, tho' stuimbling blocks be great; 

To grasp occasion, as it flies, 

For word or deed ere 'tis too late. 

Then linger yet, oh, fading day ! 

Evanishing too soon thy light; 
And let me labor while) I may, 

For what is good, for what is right ! 

I would, before I pass away, 
In some life cast my tiny mite. 

Which blessedness may bear for aye, 

When I have sunk in death's dark night, 
1880. 



MY "NANNIE" 

I BURIED my poor little pet to-day. 

" 'Twas sentiment lost," I heard you say. 

Well, maybe so; 
Only a little she-goat, that's all. 
Gentle, and kind, and came at my call. 

And loved me so. 

Many an hour would lonely have been 
But for her presence; and often when 

Thro' the deep wood 
Strolling I'd go, to read or rest. 
She was there too. A friend like the best 

Constant and good. 

Bowing her head for tender caress. 
Lying upon a fold of my dress. 
Ever content; 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 125 

But to be with me, see me, and hear, 
Having such faith she could not have fear, 
Whither we went. 

" Mischievous ? " Yes ; but do we not love 
Children the more who mischievous prove? 

Smiling? Be still. 
When I rebuked her, such sad surprise. 
Wondering and strange, came into her eyes 

It checked my will. 

How did I know a soul was not there? 
My friend, do you? li so, tell me where 

You learned the truth. 
Give me no " creed," nor yet what you think — 
Tell what you know; and prove link by link. 

Can you, forsooth? 



THE STARTLED DEER 

(Extract from an unpublished poem.) 

A MERRY peal from hunter's horn 
Awakes the chase this autumn morn. 
While joyous cry of eager hounds 
Echoing through the wood resounds,- 
For in the forest's quiet deep 
The unsuspecting deer asleep 
Lies, till he hears the distant cry 
Of hounds, as on his track they fly. 

He wakens with a graceful spring, — 
With head erect he's listening; 
With angry snort he turns him round, 
He sniffs air, he paws the ground, 



126 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

A moment more he seems to know 
Which way doth come his mortal foe. 
Then with long, sweeping graceful bounds 
He soon leaves far the yelping hounds. 

Away ! away ! he well hath need, 
Swift-footed though he be, of speed. 
Retracing, crossing, o'er and o'er. 
The steps he just had made before. 
It matters not to him, I ween, 
If fallen trees or deep ravine, 
Or rocks or rushing waterfall, 
Lie in his path — he clears them all 
With lightning speed, until at last 
He finds he is all danger past. 



A SIMILE 

The children we have fondly nursed 
Will turn avv^ay from our embrace, 

And each will find some newer life 
In which we have nor part nor place; 

And so the young birds leave the nest 
To seek some unfamiliar sky, 

Forgetful of their parents' care 

When wings grow strong enough to fly. 



AN IDYLL 

Man knows no 'purer joy than when 
He looks upon his second self, 
With triumph in the glowing thought 
"This is my child; my own new life" 
He feels new vigor from this bliss, — 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 127 

If death will leave his gem alone, 

Until some freak, or whim, or fate 

Gaps separation far and wide — 

Whioh is but death, set round with bounds. 

B'Uit thornless roses do not grow, 

And he who would the sweet inhale 

Must risk the poignant sting as well. 



Our lives lie far apart. 
And land and sea between us smile; 
Yet often times my throbbing heart 
Thrills lovingly with thoughts of you, 
My own fair girls. 



Oh! there are times. 
When 'mid the strangers gathered round. 
If joy or sorrow touch my soul 
Each fiber of my being yearns 
To have your quick, sweet sympathy ; 
When all the mother's tenderness 
O'erflows the duties of the hour, 
And longs to have your presence near, 
To feel that ye are mine again — 
Mine as of old. 



I'm selfish then, — I know it well, — 
But is deep love e'er otherwise? 
The quivering string whose fuller tones 
O'erleaps all other notes sometimes 
Is more enduring than the rest: 
What though its tension be so great 
'Twill tremble to the lightest breath 
Of zephyrs, if these wander from 
The homes of kindred symphonies ! 



128 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

I did not have 
The blessing of my mother's care; 
Or if I had, 'twas angel hands 
That led and shielded girlhood's steps; 
And memory holds faint glimpses now 
Of a sweet face which bent o'er me 
In infancy, with tender eyes : — 
God knows with what a yearning cry 
My soul has called for mother love 
In some intensest hour ! 
And this deep longing in my life 
Has made me tenderer to you, — 

More thoughtful of your childhood's joys,- 

More loving of your womanhood. 

Ofttimes I have awaked from sleep 

And, bending o'er your quiet forms 

In some false fear — nameless and fond — 

I've watched your peaceful slumbering; 

And when your gentle breathing told 

My foolish heart that " all was well," 

I've softly laid my cheek upon 

Your placid brows and kissed the lids 

Which folded in your sweet blue eyes, 

As lightly as a rose-leaf falls. 

But heavy-laden was each kiss 

With all the wealth of tenderness. 

Yet think not I would bar you from 
The happy lot of womankind, — 
To love, and be beloved; to know 
The fullness of that priceless joy — 
The blessedness of wedded love: 
And more than this, it moves my soul 
To know your wedded lives are blest. 
And ye have joined the motherhood. 
Look in the blue depths of the eyes 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 129 

Of those sweet babes, and then ye'll know 
How earnest is your mother's love. 

In future years, perhaps, will come 

The trial to your souls as well — 

To see your children turn away 

Froim your fond, sheltering tender care, 

With willing feet and happy hearts, 

To some new home, untried, unproved, — 

Nor mindful that your smiles but hide 

The loneliness within your breasts. 

Then let your thoughts fly back to me, 

And quelling mournful impulses 

Be patient then. Be strong ! be kind ! 

Pray God to spare you to your babes, 

Until they pass the outer gate. 

To seek some other home than yours, — 

Aye, more ! ye will be truly blest 

If ye may tarry to caress 

Your darlings when the time shall come 

For sorrow's sad baptismal rite. 

'Twill surely come ; — it comes to all. 

Since Eden's flower-strewn paths were trod 

No more by feet of human kind. 

No voice can soothe like mother-tones. 

And woe's sharp pang, in riper years, 

Wakes the same deep, passionate cry 

As pain doth wring from infant lips. 

I know the subtle cord that binds 
Your gentle hearts to me is strong; 
I feel it quiver when ye weep. 
And ring with music for your joy, 
My darling ones. But ye are far. 
Far from my loving arms to-night. 
I sit and close my eyes, and dream 



130 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 



Of voice and face, and almost hear 
Your footsteps at the opening door. — 
'Tis but a dream. God bless my girls ! 
Yea, more than fondest prayer can ask. 



FOR ANNIE'S ALBUM 

Ask me not to write for thee 
Newer thoughts than others here, 
Neither hopes nor wishes dear 
In life's passing still may be 
Ever changeless, and sincere. 

Guard the friendships of thy youth 
Others may be thine, in sooth. 
Reaching down to age with truth; 
Dearest, even then will be, 
Of them all, some memory 
Now so lightly prized by thee. 



FOR KEYSEY 

Perhaps the lines I'm writing here 

May be like idle singing. 
But well I know in some sad year 

Their echo will be ringing. 

We all are prone to highly prize — 

While yesterdays forgetting 
The love that fain would save our eyes 

The tears of vain regretting. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 131 

The careless days of girlhood fly 

With pleasure's pulses beating, 
And hearts like mine suppress a sigh 

That these should be so fleeting. 

And yet I would not have you grow 

Less hopeful and believing, 
The time may come when you must know 

The artful and deceiving. 

Then take from life all joy you may, 

Nor doubt the sun to-morrow, 
Some blessing thus will come each day 

E'en in the midst of sorrow. 



TO MY BROTHER 

I WOULD not that one silver hair 

Should glisten 'mid those locks of thine; 
Nor that thy life should have a care, 

H more than wishing could be mine: 
But all our longings — more or less — 

Are empty promptings of the heart; — ■ 
We know too well their nothingness, 

Because they leave so keen a smart. 

The vainest things of vanities 

These silent yearnings ever are; 
They bring new tear-drops to our eyes, 

And do not drive away despair; 
They open wide the yawning grave, 

Where buried lie bright golden hopes, 
And do not point away to save 

Our future from such dangerous slopes. 



132 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

In looking back, perhaps we see 

How much of good we might have done, 
But what our future Hves shall be 

Is known but to Our God alone ; 
And if we stop to wish and yearn 

For blessings bright denied us here, 
We may that mercy from us turn 

Whose wings perhaps were hovering near. 

My brother, all save you and I 

Of our dear household band are gone; 
And oft my heart's strong yearning cry 

Is that you leave me not alone. 
I fain would, once more ere I die, 

Enfold thee in a close embrace ; 
I fain would mark with loving eye 

Time's signet on thy darling face. 

The changing years since we have met 

Llave left their traces on us all; 
And I, whose star of hope has set, 

Would not their passing now recall ; , 
I pray the coming time shall yet 

Bring still more blessedness for thee. 
That o'er thy path no vain regret 

Shall fall like shade of upas tree. 



And now farewell, for soon I go 

Where prairies stretch 'neath Western skies; 
But from my heart to thee shall flow 

A tide of loving memories : — 
Swift sweeping up, from childhood's years, 

The billovv^s crested with our love. 
While Faith's bright rainbow, flashed from tears, 

Will promise we shall meet above. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 133 



LINES 

They painted the features fairly 

With palette and pencil and brush, 
And sought on the canvas to fasten 

The tints of the life-glowing flush ; 
But I miss the sound of their voices, 

From the lips forever ahush, 
And the eyes have never a sparkle, 

Whence flashes of thought ought to rush. 

Familiar, — and yet they look strangely, 
These pictures that come to me now; 

They're wanting the changeful expression 
Wihich played over cheek, lip, and brow. 

I've longed in the anguish of spirit 

For only one look at each face; 
My brothers, so tender and loving, 

I would I could once more embrace. 
But cold in the gloom of the coffin, 

Whence none can life's pathway retrace, 
They're lone and silent forever, 

With motionless, upturned face. 

And pictures, tho' bringing some comfort. 
Can never their presence replace ; 

And years in the cycles are sweeping 
Many hopes, many yearnings, apace. 

Each bearing its joy and its burden. 
Each leaving indelible trace, — 

Yet bringing my spirit no answer 
From out the invisible space. 

I cannot quite fathom the feeling 
Which moves me, so subtle it is, — 



134 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

I know that my heart often quivers 
To its depths, 'neath strange mysteries. 

Oh ! the passionate, aching longing 
To Hve again sweet golden years, 
When the ghosts of the Past come thronging. 

With laughter, and song — even tears. 
And Memory gathers a halo 

As each from the silence appears. 

I wish I could tell you, dear brothers, 

Wherever your spirits have flown, 
That I whom you cherished so fondly, 

And left 'mid earth's trials alone, 
Have gathered life's threads for another. 

Whose large heart deep sorrow had known, 
And woven them into contentment 

The while I gained peace for my own. 

I fain would be with you, and hear you, 

Wherever you may be, — and yet, 
Without him who lifted life's shadows 

My spirit would droop with regret. 
I feel it will glad youi, dear brothers, 

Tho' bright your existence and sweet. 
To know while in life I am walking 

The pathway is smoothed for my feet. 

I look at these pictures and gather 

A vision almost of your home ; 
And often your eyes are turned earthward — 
Be patient, I surely will come. 
And then ye will gather around me 

With welcome and tenderest care, 
And thoughts of this long separation 

Will vanish forever from there. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 135 



MIGNONETTE 

I WALKED in a stranger's garden 
'Mid flowers low and tall, 

And one in a little corner 
Seemed sweeter than them all. 



'Twas not for the flaunting brightness 

Of the crimson blossoms there, 
Nor yet for the waxen whiteness 

Of exotic lilies rare; 
'Twas not for the jasmine's perfume, 

In delicate subtile flow, 
Nor yet for the opening promise 
Of the bright red roses glow; 
'Twas not for the golden splendor, 

Entangled amid the leaves. 
Nor yet for the tints of purple 

A bud from the cloud receives ; 
'Twas not for the sunshine glancing, 

With bee or butterfly's wing, 
From out the bosom of flowers. 

Where the tiny fairies sing; — 
Nor yet for the zephyr dancing 

That my heart was quivering. 



But down in a little corner 

Was a mignonette abloom, 
Which set my heart a-thrilling 

With its delicate perfume. 
And Memory's pictures glowing 

Were hung upon her wall, 
And the light of love was flowing 

From out the past o'er all. 



136 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

And one more bright than another, — 

How strangely vivid it seemed ! — 
The face of my soldier brother, 

Where the setting sunlight gleamed; 
And that of a fair young maiden, 

Aglow with the tints of love, 
As pure as that of the angels 

'Mid the white-winged hosts above. 

They stood in my own fair garden, 
And he plucked a mignonette, 

And said, " Should I fall in battle. 
My darling, do not forget." 

Oh, phantoms bright and tender, 

In lifelike loveliness. 
The quick hot tears engender, 

To stifle the heart's caress. 

The shadows grow nearer, nearer, 

And all the pictures are gone. 
Save this one, so much the dearer, 

It's lingering all alone. 
For grass and flowers are growing 

Between their faces and mine, — 
Shall I see their beauty glowing 

Where glories eternal shine? 



YEARNINGS 

I WOULD be to thee 
Far more than thou hast ever known — 
A joy, a blessing, which shall grow 
More deep, more prized, as years shall pass. 
Yet ever new, I fain would wake 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 137 

Sweet symphonies within thy soul, 

That ne'er till now were waked, and fling 

A thrilling echo to the gates 

Through which none pass and e'er return. 

So that, when thou shalt enter there 

And listen to that echo, — thou 

Shalt feel the blessedness of home, 

And love, and happiness, that I 

Have shared and given thee on earth. — 

Shall it be so? 

I fain would be the hills. 
Within thy life, that shall reflect 
The softest, brightest sunshine; which 
Give token of cool, shadowy vales. 
Where love and hope together dwell 
Content. — I would my faults would be 
But drifting clouds, whose lining shows 
The golden gleam, with fervent glow. 
That brightens till in warm-^hued mist 
They melt at last. — Oh ! I would be 
All, all thy heart hath ever craved, — 
Thy soul hath missed in life, or yearned 
To find, when time shall be forgot. 
I'd merge my being into thine. 
Yet be myself as part of thee 
Through ages which cannot be told — 
Existence' fair fruition. 

My own, 
Hast thou e'er known idolatry, — 
The sweet enslaving of the soul 
That holds naught back from love? 
Then thou canst know sometime, perhaps. 
How deep, how grand, this worship is ! 
I know how priestly lore would chide. 
Yet care not I for creeds that teach 
And torture faith for selfish end. 



138 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Is nature ever perfect grown 
Until each molecule finds its mate? 
And say we not each planet moves 
By influence of some bright sun? — 
Then, is it sin for human soul 
To know and claim its own in life, — 
When through the long Eternity 
'Twould dwarf and wither were it still 
To wander missing that dear twin? 
Ah, darling ! Would yon heaven be 
So longed and sought for, if on earth 
Our spirits did not sometimes know 
The foretaste of supernal bliss, 
Which stills the soul's impatient cry 
For perfect love, in perfect peace? — 
Would Eden loom so fair for us 
If we had missed each other here? 



A SOUVENIR 

Had I the power of Runic sage. 

To tell thee of to-morrow, 
I would not trace on this fair page 

For thee a single sorrow; 
Or, ihad I wand of fairy queen, 

I'd make thy life all brightness; 
Nor should a shadow intervene 

To dim thy spirit's lightness. 

But I can only wish for thee 

A life of peaceful pleasure, — 
More precious far, it seems to me, 

Than Ophir's shining treasure. 
And if thy sun may sometimes shroud 

His face, let not repining 
Fill thy young heart; the darkest cloud 

Has yet the brightest lining. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 139 



WINTER RAIN 

Gloomy, dreary, and dull 
The day drags wearily on; 

The clouds are heavy and full 
The rain is pattering- down. 
With never a gleam of sunshine bright 
From cheerless morn to darksome night. 

Dripping, dripping, and drip, 
From eaves o'er the swallows' nest. 

And with a fretful lip 
We tell the children " 'tis best." 
Yet sigh for wind, with its angry moan, 
To break this sullen monotone. 

Sweeping across the sky. 
And driving the lazy rain; 

Soughing, as if to die. 
In a mournful, low refrain, — 
While hurrying clouds thro' broken rifts 
Would scatter sunlig-^ht's golden drifts. 

Watching the falling rain, 
I stand by the window-sill ; 
Till feelings akin to pain 
Come into my heart and fill, 
With pity for houseless, homeless ones 
Who must sleep to-night on cold, wet stones. 

Turning, within I see 
My home so cosy and warm; 

Marveling this should be, 
So many must brave the storm : — 
I chide my heart for its discontent, 
Where pleasure and pain are strangely blent. 



140 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Sinking at last to rest, 
Unseen, the bright red sun, 

With scarce a ray in the west, 
To tell us the day is done. — 
I close the door on the darkening night 
With peaceful joy in our warmth and light. 



TIT FOR TAT 

You left me in chilly December, 

'Twas just before Christmas, you know. 

And you said, " Now, darling, remember, 
I'll come back when June roses blow." 

You said that this " absence so grieved you," 
You scarce could say " Good-bye," forsooth ; 

And I, like a woman, believed you. 
And deemed every word of it truth. 

The tears to my eyes that were starting, 

I held in their fountains unshed ; 
I tried to be cheerful at parting. 

And give you bright smiles in their stead. 

Your truth and your love you were vaunting^ 
You begged me to " try them and prove." 

I did so, — and found sadly wanting 
This wonderful thing- of man's love. 



I wonder why woman will measure 
Man's heart by the depth of her own. 

To find out, at last, that her treasure 
Is dust and her " idols are stone." 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 141 

The June roses blossomed and faded, — 
I still thought you surely would come ; — 

And oft in my dark hair I braided 

Their rich buds to welcome you home. 

But what is the use of this prating? 

Neglect has made some women wise. 
For you I'm not '' sadly waiting," 

This morceau of news will surprise. 

Next week I have promised to marry 

A man — not a saint, so you see, 
As long as you choose you may tarry, — 

Your coming is nothing to me. 



TO XARIFFA 

(On reading her poem of " Our Own.") 

I WOULD I knew thee as thou art. 

For thou hast touched the chords 
That tremble round my loving heart 

By those few, simple words. 
'Tis strange sometimes the spirit-cries 

From bosoms yet unknown 
Awaken sweetest melodies 

Responsive — in " our own." 

I have been thinking, sadly too, 

Of those dear friends to-day, 
Whom other years I loved and knew — 

But oh ! where, where are they ? 
How many of them even now 

From earthly scenes have flown? 
And sadness gathers on my brow 

With thoughts of these — " our own." 



142 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

While some have at the altar knelt 

In blest, requited love, 
The deepest woe have others felt, 

Or e'er they walked above. 
And some there were whom little we 

Thought would have faithless grown,- 
Have made us sigh that there could be 

A Judas 'midst " our own." 

I have been gazing gratefully 

Upon my elder child, 
And then have met most tenderly 

My infant's blue eyes mild. 
And tho' the loved of other days 

O'er this wide world are strewn, 
My heart is full of humble praise, — 

Oh, God ! for these — " our own." 

Where'er on earth our lot be cast, 

If life be smiles or tears; 
If scattered by misfortune's blast 

The wealth and hopes of years; 
Or granted every wish and will 

Our hearts have ever known ; — 
There will be always something still 

We'll love to call " our own." 



TO MISS NELLIE GRIFFITH OF BALTIMORE 

(With a Book.) 

I WOULD, in bidding thee good-bye. 

That I could wake a strain 
Which thou wouldst think of tenderly 

And wish it o'er again. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 143 

But oh ! my heart's too full of grief, 

My eyes of unshed tears, — 
I mourn this parting, sad and brief, 

We may not meet for years. 

I would not be forgotten quite — 

(Thus often think I sing) — 
Thou couldst not thus so ill requite 

My full heart's offering. 

Then take this simple souvenir, 

'Tis friendship's gift to thee. 
And sometimes in each future year 

Think lovingly of me. 

1861. 



ACROSTIC 

May friendship send a wish for thee 
Adown thy future years, 
Regretting that the wish should be 
Incompetent to turn from thee 
A single gush of tears. 

E'en tho' thy heart may soon forget, 

Like others have before, 

I'd wish thee joy and pleasure yet 

So much, thou wouldst not know regret, 

And thou shouldst reach fourscore. 

But fairest thought so vainly ends. 

Ere age shall touch thy brow, 

Thou mayst not care, midst other friends, 

How prized this feeling now. 



144 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Hope's earnest prayer is ne'er in vain, 

And rising from my heart 

The spirit-breathing low refrain 

Can save thy breast, perchance, some pain, 

However blest thou art. 

TO MISS SYKES 

(Written in my sixteenth year.) 

Think of me when thou art alone 
And memory turns to other days, 

When hushed is every lover's tone, 
And silent every flatterer's praise — 
Then, Marcella, think of me. 

Think of me when the golden sun 
Has gone behind the trees to rest; 

When each day-bird its song hath sung 
And sought again its leafy nest, — 
Then, Marcella, think of me. 

Think of me when the fair, young moon 
Comes out in modesty and grace. 

And bright stars form a glad festoon 

Round her and smile on thy sweet face — 
Then, Marcella, think of me. 

Think of me when the morning's blush 
Shall chase the gloomy night away, 

And the orient sky shall flush 

With the advancing light of day — 
Then, Marcella, think of me. 

Think of me when thou art kneeling. 
And a prayer to God art breathing. 

In thy young heart's purest feeling; 
Think of her thou now art leaving — 

Then, dear, sweet friend, think of me. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 145 



A TRIBUTE 

(To my dearest friend, Marcella, written in her a''bum the 
evening of her marriage.) 

May'st thoii be happy! May thy life 

Be with holiest pleasures rife. -' 

May'st thou rarely know a sorrow, — 

Brighter beam thine every morrow : — 

Whilst thy spirit rests as gently, 

As sweetly calm and silently, 

As an infant's peaceful slumber 

Watched b}'- angels without number. 

May'st thou be happy. May he prove 

Most worthy of thy deepest love. 

May his affection never wake 

Thy need of this thou dost forsake. 

And should thy spirit be the first 

To wing its Avay whence came it erst — 

Oh ! may he catch thy latest breath, — 

Thy star through life, thy friend in death. 

April, 1851. 



AN AUTOGRAPH 

(For our daughter " Chess.") 

Friend after friend will turn these leaves, 
Some with fond hearts, some carelessly. 

And thus each page a line receives, — 
What tho' sincere or thoug-htlessly. 

But years sweep by, and those who write 
Forget sometimes the tenderness 

Which could such loving words indite. 
Have you not found it so, dear Chess? 



146 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Our human hearts palimpsests are. 

'Tis better so, or memory 
Of disappointment, pain, and care 

Would strangle hope remorsely. 

Now, if I may one thought impress, 

Which shall not fade when you read this, 

'Tis that you know me sincere. Chess, 
When here I wish you every bliss. 

I fain another thought would speak — 
'Tis this, keep thou the talisman. 

Content and peace, through spring-tide week 
They'll brighten autumn's cyclamen. 

And if you travel down the path 
Of circling years to winter's snow, 

This twain will yield an aftermath 
In which no thorn or thistles grow. 

Forgive these thoughts, if they should seem 
Less kind than others, well you know 

Affectionate I'd have you deem 

The words of one who loves you so. 



TO "MARGARET" 

Around a little curl of hair. 

Sent long ago, these numbers twine; 
While I am strangely curious where 

The sister tresses softly shine. 

They may be streaked with gray, perhaps. 
And beautiful may still remain. 

For time has had a weary lapse 
Of wintry wind and April rain. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 147 

I wonder if the brow this wreathed 

E'er throbs with pleasant thoughts of one 

Who in sweet song so fondly breathed 
Request for it in that by-gone. 

Or have the intervening years 

Left in thy mem'ry little trace, 
'Mid sterner duties, smiles, and tears. 

Of manly form, or name, or face? 

I think no jealousy doth fill 

The measure of my little lay — 
A sympathetic chord may thrill, 

Of what the " might-have-been," to-day. 

Life's written pages backward read 
Will place thee as betrothed bride 

Of one who long has been as dead 
To thee, and / am by his side. 

Think not he idly sought the gift, 
Nor prized but simply to obtain; 

The sun may find no friendly rift 

In clouds surcharged with chilling rain. 

And I have seen him softly smile, 

With gentle thought of thee, and this ; 

And heard him speak thy praise, the while 
He pressed my brow with loving kiss. 

I envy not his love of thee, 

Nor memories of that youthful time. 

That which he proudly gives to me 

Is won, and held from manhood's prime. 

And in the gloaming oft we sit. 

Recounting scenes of youthful days, 



148 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

When life was with a glamour lit 

And shrouded in a dream-world haze. 

'Tis then he sometimes speaks of thee 
And other friends in kind regret, 

I draw from this sweet augury 
Time cannot make his heart forget. 

But hush ! In lonely silentness 

The sister curls may long have lain. 

I'll fold away this little tress 
Forever in its place again. 



TO MISS LUCY RILEY 

If on this fair white page I write 

But auguries of good for thee. 
I would affection's hopes indite 

Instead of truthful prophecy : 
If I could look beyond the pale 

Which bounds the shadowy, To-Be, 
I would, unconscious, from thee veil 

Whatever there would sadden thee. 

But if it be 'mong poet's gifts 

To make thy young heart still more gay, 
'Twere sweet to show where golden rifts 

Let brightest sunshine fall to-da.y ; 
E'en though where Hope her castle lifts, 

Awaiting but thy footsteps' play. 
Until for thee the Future drifts 

Into engulfing yesterday. 

Laugh on, in girlhood's careless grace, 
Thou hast not known a sorrov/ yet : — 

And distant be the hour thy face 
Shall with affliction's tears be wet. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 149 

Laugh on, laugh on, nor hesitate 
To gather roses whilst ye may — 

Yet heed thee lest, insatiate. 

Thou gather thorns which 'neath them lay. 



I would not dim these happy hours 

By visions of Life's darker ones; 
Nor mildew now thy gathered flowers, 

Nor discords wake 'mid music tones. 
But I would shield thee, had I power, 

From dangerous will-o'-wisps that lure, 
And when the storm-clouds o'er thee lower 

I fain would know thy rescue sure. 



I love to see thee ever glad, 

I love to hear thy laughter ring ; — 
And yet it almost makes me sad, 

Sometimes, to hear thy sweet lips sing, — 
Because I know life's harsher strings 

Will answer to thy future touch. 
And time at last with gloomy wings 

Will shade thy spirit overmuch. 



May sweetest echoes then return 

From youth as 'twere but yesterday, 
And memory's holy incense burn 

To cheer thee on thy darkened way, — 
Till glimpses of the bright Beyond, 

With dazzling, incandescent ray. 
Shall guide thee where at last is found 

A fadeless, blissful peace for aye. 



150 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 



TO LUCY 

J (Acrostic.) 

Let all thy years unfolded yet 
Unite to bring thee joy, 
Contain of sorrow or regret, — 
Youth's whims the sole alloy. 

Revealed along these coming years, 
In fancy's picture dwell; 
Love's traces of its hopes and fears. 
E'en tho' it give small room for tears, 
Yet God doth all things well. 



LINES TO SIDNEY SKINNER 

What shall I say, dear Sidney, 

Of studied word or chance 
That on some day, dear Sidney, 

May catoh your passing glance, — 
And cause a kindly feeling 

To awaken in your heart. 
As memory o'er it stealing 

Will give me some small part? 

You do not want a sermon — 

Still less you wish a song. 
The first is all too common. 

The last may prove too long. 
We cannot rule a measure 

For undiscovered land, 
Nor mark the paths of pleasure. 

Nor rocks, nor beds of sand. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 151 

Life lies untried before you, 

To mould it as you will ; 
And time will not ignore you — 

Or spend it well or ill. 
Some moments come surpassing 

All others, for your clasp: — 
Take heed to know their passing, 

And each occasion grasp. 

If true ambition woo you 

To w^alk where others fail; 
Let not their faults undo you, 

Nor wavering fears prevail. 
We all have hours of sadness, 

Discouraged for the right. 
But bright are days of gladness 

Enransomed from the night. 

So nerve your heart, dear Sidney, 

To win the goal at last ; 
And act your part well, Sidney, 

Ere time for you be past; 
Regrets will not avail you 

When youth's mistakes you scan. 
Nor manhood prove a failure, 

If lived the best you can. 

AFRAID 

Your prisoned bird will beat his wings, 

However tender be your care; 
And when he folds them up and sings, 

'Tis but the wild song of despair. 
He may become resigned at last 

To dwell within those cruel bars, — 
Think not he has forgot the past, 

For heart and wing retain their scars. 



152 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

Your petted fawn may check his speed 

In answer to your fond recall, 
But still his heart hath other need 

Than your caressing, after all. 
And tho' his prison be a park 

A-bloom with nature's loveliness, 
He yet longs for the forest dark, 

And freedom in the wilderness. 

And so were I to take your name 

And heart in answer to your plea,- 
Tho' you should prove to be the same 

In after years as now to me, — 
I fear, like prisoned fawn and bird, 

I might look backward with regret : — 
I own my heart is strangely stirred, 

But dare not yield my freedom yet. 



MORNING-GLORIES 

Fragrant, fleeting morning-glory. 

Poets rarely sing your beauty ; 
When they do, they tell your story 

Less from love than fancied duty. 

But I love your brilliant tinting, 

Rainbow-hued, with cloud land splendor, 

And your perfume faint and glinting, 
Incense like when hearts are tender. 

White and blue, with crimson tracing, 

Lilac, violet, and rosy — 
Vines with curvings interlacing 

Show me many a royal posy. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 153 

For the bright Aurora's greeting 

Every cup with nectar dew — wine — 

So their use and beauty fleeting 

Fade they with the morn, in sunshine. 



'Mid the long forgotten stories 
Of the ancients, was a nation 

Which (so like these morning-glories) 
Gave the morn its best libation. 



And the spirit of these stories 
Falls upon me, soft and tender, 

As I pluck my morning-glories 

In their fragrant, fleeting splendor. 



A VALENTINE 

When rivers shall no longer flow 

Forever onward to the sea ; 
When moments shall no longer go 

From out our lives eternally; 
When Love and Hope shall cease to be 

The prophets of futurity. 
And suns shall cease in heaven to shine ■ 

I'll then forget thee, Valentine. 

And whether sunset embers flash 

A blushing farewell to the day. 
Or gathering clouds air-castles dash 

To gloomy dullness of decay. 
Till you and I shall quiet rest 

With folded hands o'er pulseless breast 
Till then I'll worship at thy shrine 

And think of thee, sweet Valentine. 



154 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 



WEARY 

I'm weary, so weary. Would I might rest 
As do the dead. Within my quiet breast 
No thought, no care, nor ever hounding hurry — 
Lest some neglect to-day the morrow worry. 

I'm weary, so weary. Why must this life 
So oft for woman be a ceaseless strife 
With her own heart, to win some fond ambition, 
And find too late its hojlow, vain fruition? 

So weary of waiting. Watching my tide 
Creep slowly, slowly up, at last to hide 
The shifting sands which so relentless cover 
Each builded hope that founded some endeavor. 

I'm weary of striving to win the goal 
Where One shall say unto my happy soul — 
Thou hast done well. Come, rest thy weary fingers 
And patient heart where not a sorrow lingers. 

I'm weary, so weary of life's mistakes. 
Where each new joy of bitterness partakes. 
Where eager hands outstretched in tender passion 
Are wounded sore by hidden thorns they dash on. 

I'm weary of striving to Ml the pain 
I must endure; of feeling all things vain. 
When Fate sets hard against some happy ending; 
For reeds must break from constant bruising, bend- 
ing. 

I'm weary of waiting to gain that peace 

Which passes human ken, — until release 

From earth's deep care and numbing pain is given, 

At last, to those who win the longed-for heaven. 



SONGS 



MEMORY'S SONG 

There cometh a bird from the olden time, 
Which singeth a song in a golden rhyme, 

In magical notes 

So thrillingly floats 
This heavenly lay that it almost seems 
A nepenthe balm for our mocking dreams. 

'Tis Memory's song, from the long ago, 
That floodeth my heart with its music low. 

The faces and tones 

Of dearly loved ones 
Who made my life bright in its matin hour 
Come back to me now with a silent power. 

There cometh a thought of the by-gone days 
When life, still untried to my youthful gaze. 

Wore sunshiny hues — 

And beautiful views 
Were scattered along in the distance seen, — 
A mirage indeed has the vision been. 

Now tremble the notes of the after time 

When childhood was gone, and womanhood's prime 

An earnestness brought, — 

With a holy thought 
To lighten each heart o'er which hung a cloud. 
And cover its faults with a mercy shroud. 

How vain was the wish ! And the quivering strain 
With sadness is fraught as I think again 

How misunderstood 

And lonely I stood 

157 



158 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

The adder was warmed, and its venomed sting 
Sang deep in the heart like a ruthless thing: 

Oh, Memory's bird ! Oh, come not to sing ! 
The buried Past from its grave to bring. 

The beautiful lay 

Of life's early day 
Has changed to a wail, and a mournful thrill 
Is filling my heart as I listen still. 



SONG OF THE FLOATING DRIFT 

In and out I am floating away, 

On the bosom of the stream. 
The eddies toss me round in their play, 

Till a living thing I seem. 
I know not where I shall land at last, 

Nor what my future shall be, — 
Perhaps the waves I'm riding so fast 

Will bear me out to the sea. 

Palace and cot alike I pass by, 

I heed neither rich nor poor; 
Onward forever, like time I fly, 

Like time return nevermore : 
Nothing to me the city's vast throng. 

And nothing the wild-wood deep ; — 
By them I steadily glide along, 

And onward my way I keep. 

Nothing to me the dreaded Unknown, 
Not the wearing mental care; 

Nothing to me the struggle and moan 
That the human heart-strings tear; 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 159 

Nothing to me the dying of hope, 

Nor the spirit's yearning cry 
When it with waves of sorrow must cope. 

And it wails despairingly. 



Yet Man like me is floating away, 

Down the rushing stream of life ; 
Passion and folly make him their play, 

And whirl him on in their strife : — 
Passing unheeded the calls of Grace, 

Until the deepening stream 
Warns him he's near the echoless space 

Where time is a bygone dream. 
He cannot cheat the billowy waves 

E'en a moment of their prey ; 
They will not grant him the rest he craves, 

For the river cannot stay. 
He knows not where he will land at last. 

Nor what his future shall be, 
When the shaded shores of life he's past 

And launched in Eternity. 



SONG 

(Air — "Touch, touch again thy light guitar.") 

Yes, " touch again thy light guitar," 

And sing that low, sweet strain, 
It bringeth mem'ries from afar. 

And I can weep again. 
I live once more those happy years, 

A child upon life's stream, 
And womanhood's stern cares and tears 

Pass from me like a dream. 



i6o IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

It 'minds me of my mother's face, 

Her gentle, loving tones ; 
Her form of dignity and grace 

Among her little ones. 
My spirit hears the lullaby 

She used to sing to me, — 
It floods my heart so lovingly, 

While still I list to thee. 

It 'minds me of the happy time 

Wihen girlhood's guileless days 
Were douibly-winged with song and rhyme, 

And passed in dreamy haze. 
Then do not cease, but sing again, 

That soothing, thrilling song, 
I would forget awhile the pain 

My heart has borne so long. 



FAREWELL 

It must be so. It is Fate's will. 
And when some future day we meet, 
The hearts which now so madly thrill 
May tremble then in quiet beat. 
Perchance we'll pass each other by 
As strangers bent on different ends, 
And none may know that thou and I 
Have other been than passing friends. 

'Tis said that " time makes all things even." 

There may be those who find it so. 

But there are visions of some heaven 

We almost grasp, yet must forego. 

I neither blame myself nor thee, — 

The human heart brooks small control, — 

And rainbow-like thy memory 

Will often rise upon my soul. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH i6i 

I count not life the days that make 
The sum of our existence here, 
I'd rather measure joy we take, 
Or sorrow, from each fleeting year. 
Are there not moments we may know, 
As if by light'ning speed we live, — 
So much of bliss, so much of woe,— 
For which we would not ages give? 

Farewell ! Farewell ! This cannot be 

More bitter to thy soul than mine. 

Yet with the word 'twixt thee and me 

The glowings of a sunset shine. 

And fill my heart with holy peace, 

As if nepenthe angel's pour. 

For vain regret which may not cease 

As yet. — Farewell ! Farewell once more ! 

Farewell ! Farewell ! The years roll on, 
And lonely days pass one by one. 
When shall I know my last one gone. 
And I with time and grief be done? 
Oh ! while I linger could I hear 
Thee sometimes bid me " All is well," — 
Midst darkest sorrow^s it would cheer 
My fainting spirit. Fare thee well ! 



IN ANSWER 

Dear, scan my face, for on my brow 
Thou well canst mark impress of years; 

And, see, upon these features now 
Are traces of life's bitter tears. 

Dost thou still think as loving wife 

I'll fill the void within thy life? 



i62 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

My heart grows fonder at thy call 
Than what it ever might have been, 

In other years. I give thee all 

My wealth of love. Nor tongue, nor pen. 

Can to thy spirit well portray 

What this deep worship means to-day. 



We're growing old, — I know it, dear; 

We cannot bid Time's wing be still. 
And well I know each passing year 

Leaves footprints, though despite our will. 
Thou sayest, " Must hearts grow old as well. 
Or colder, therefore ? " Canst thou tell ? 



I do not think life's golden time 
The guerdon of our youth alone; 

For sometimes age's silver rime 
Will for the waiting well atone. 

And if I could, I'd ever be 

All things most good and fair to thee. 



I beg thee judge me by thy soul. 
Thou wilt be just, I think, to me. 

But heap the measure, till the whole 
Is overflowing unto thee : 

I know that thou wilt find the store 

Is still exhaustless evermore. 



Art sure thou'lt not regret the time 

Is gone, to bring thee youth's fair gift? 

Dost truly think in woman's prime 
I'm stronger now thy cares to lift? 

Well, well, the umbrage of these years 

May save us from remorseful tears. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 163 



QUESTIONING 

Do you think with a gentle devotion 
Of me, when fair faces you meet? 

Does a glance, or a form, or a motion, 
When others who love you you greet, 

Make your heart like the shells of the ocean 
Keep chanting home memories sweet? 

When day over tree-tops is dawning, 
Tho' slumbering still you may be. 

Do you think that the fairest adorning 
Of dreams is some vision of me? 

Do you waken and say the new morning 
Were brighter if I were with thee? 

When the embers of daylight are dying 

Mid opaline splendors untold, 
And empyrean mountains are lying 

In cloudland of purple and gold, — 
Do your thoughts to my presence come flying 

And softly that presence enfold? 

When the shimmer of moonlight is dancing 
O'er woodland and water and lea, 

Or the glimmer of starlight is glancing 
Like fairy from blossom to tree, — 

Is the picture to you more entrancing 
Because of some fancy of me? 

But think not this questioning falling, 

Because unto doubt I incline. 
Affection so deep and enthralling 

Is little less pure than divine: — 
'Twould fondly an echo be calling 

In answer from your heart to mine. 



i64 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 



AFTERMATH 

It seems so strange that I should sip 
This nector-cup that to my lip 
'Tis held with overflowing rim, 
And keeps so full, aye, to the brim. 

It seems so strange the love so prized 
Is mine at last, that realized 
At last this dream of mystic joy, — 
And peace almost without alloy. 

Strange ! fateful sisters intertwine 
A " human feeling with divine" ; 
Strange ! that such chords my spirit sweep 
Their very music makes me weep. 

Oh, icebergs ! floating by the side 
Of lands unblest by summer tide, 
At last caught by strong undertow. 
Which outward to the tropics flow, 

Respond to Nature's glowing kiss 
And change, in their excess of bliss, 
From rocklike forms to leaping waves 
Whose crests the brightest ghnting saves. 

Oh, desert-waste ! where living rain 
At last doth fall, and bring again 
New life to germs which long have lain 
Sand-buried on the burning plain, 

Awake, and chant seoHan tunes. 
Perfume and flowers crown their dunes. 
And pilgrims dream beneath new trees 
Of home, 'mid hum of birds and bees. 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 165 

But more than these, and deeper still, 
The mission which a worm can fill: — 
Tho' dead within its darkened cell, 
How fair, when burst at last its shell ! 

And I, like iceberg-, felt the change 
When this love came, so sweet, so strange. 
I yielded to the mystic power 
Li his dark eyes — e'en from that hour. 

And thus, as in a desert place 
No flowers glow until his face 
Awaked love's blossom sweet and rare, 
My very soul lay bleak and bare. 

And so, like chrysalis enfurled 
Within its shroud from outer world, 
I sealed my heart, until the thrill 
His presence gave o'erpowered my will. 

Ah ! every sorrow I have borne. 
And every anguish I have known. 
Were God-sent angels if their power 
Has brousfht me to this blessed hour. 



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He loves me — loves me — and a glow 
Of golden hues my years o'erflow. 
I lay my hand in his. At last 
My Aftermath is worth the Past. 



CONTENTMENT 

Dost ask me why I am so glad. 
Whether sunshine, whether rain? 

Dost ask me why I am not sad, 
If in comfort, if in pain? 



i66 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 

I must answer, to your calling, — 
Sun and shadow make life fair, 

And the rain-drops, falling, falling, 
Bring new beauty everywhere. 



I, like many a gifted poet. 

Whether dumb or singing well, 
Love all nature, as I know it. 

Even more than I can tell. 
Like a poet, loving flowers. 

Song of birds, and low of kine. 
Much within this world of ours 

Glads this simple breast of mine. 



Dost ask me why I little heed 

Either wealth or sounding name? 
Dost ask me if I crave the meed 

Others seek from lips of fame? 
Let me answer, if I'm singing — 

Song is of my soul a part; 
And the music in me ringing 

Sometimes breaks up from my heart. 



DEPRECATION 

If my feet to-night were nearing, 

Nearing the unmeasured shore 
Where the bravest heart knows fearing, 

Tho' it never quailed before ; 
If my eyes to-night were closing, 

Nevermore thy face to see, 
And my lips were surely losing 

Power to sing or smile for thee ; — 



IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 167 

Would not, then, some gentle feeling 

Cover all my faults away? 
While some memory softly stealing 

Proved my heart was thine alway? 
Wouldst thou not remember, living 

I gave thee but tenderness, — 
And, remembering, be forgiving 

To me, in death's silentness? 

Haply I have failed in meeting 

All thy soul had yearned for here ; — 
Thy ideal ne'er completing 

As we journeyed year by year. — 
If so, when thy farewell greeting 

Falls upon unheeding ear, 
Do not blame thyself, repeating 

Some regret with each new tear. 

Do not then upbraid some blindness, 

Fancied, in thy waking life; 
Thou hast been to me all kindness — 

I, thine own devoted wife. 
I would have no bitter weeping, 

Tho' thou'lt miss me in our home, 
Think of me as only sleeping, 

Waiting till thy spirit come. 



Let this tell thee I have striven 

To be all thou mightst have sought, 
And I know I'll be forgiven — 

(If I failed) — in after-thought. 
Life is full of empty yearning, 

" Might-have-beens " which haunt and grieve, 
And the lesson worth our learning 

Is to prize what we receive. 



i68 IDYLLS OF THE SOUTH 



TO THOSE WHO LOVE ME 

(Acrostic.) 

But if 'mid kind memories 
Ever I shall have a place, — 
Touch the gentle melodies, 
Tender, low, sweet symphonies, — 
Interweave some fancied grace 
Even with my cold, dead face. 

Keep ye, then, these little rhymes. 
Every one with kindness fraught; 
You may find in after-times 
Even friendship may be bought: — 
So, ye'll give me loving thought. 

Changing years will come and go, 
Hast'ning all things to the end; 
As they pass away we know 
Many bear from us some friend; 
Blessed we, if we may hope, 
Eden is our loved one's home : — 
Resting, till the gates shall ope. 
Swinging wide, for us to come. 



THE END 



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